About damn time
by Shockey13
Summary: Quinn comes home from Syria arriving on Carrie's doorstep. Begins 5 months after the events of "Long time coming."
1. We're not alone

A/N: Written for, well what everyone wants, for Quinn to come home. Lots of fluff AND other stuff ;). More chapters to come!

* * *

The nightmares, they started coming what seemed like abruptly. It felt like a slap in that face, but maybe she deserved it for going to, then returning, to that shit hole to begin with. Waking up drenched in a pool of sweat often, one night even waking up shaking and she swears she could still feel Quinn's hand constricting her neck and his voice stinging with fury.

They didn't just creep up on her though and she knew it. Getting that letter of course being the catalyst. He was gone, just like the rest of them. Some nights would be a flash of Islamabad and then there were the nights she saw Quinn on his mission and it always ended right before something happened to him, something bad of course. She'd always be watching from a monitor, in her superficial safe haven, screaming at him to be careful and he wasn't able to hear her no matter how loud she was. Her desperate cries useless, failing before she can even try.

She feels pathetic with needing to have a one year sleep in her bed with her, but on those nights she sleeps peacefully even if it takes hours to fall asleep. It becomes a routine and not just for Carrie. The simple comfort of the most important person in her life always being there even when they sleep. She tires herself by rubbing Franny's back until she has exhausted her arm, soothing both of them to sleep. Her fears of sleep alleviated by the rise and fall of her daughter's breathing pattern.

* * *

Work hasn't been an issue so far, but she had to face it sooner or later. Going to Langley, out of the question. She's avoided the Senate hearings for the most part and had openly wanted to take responsibility for everyone who was killed. Even they know she could not have possibly stopped what had happened. They order Langley to allow her not to return there, or to the hearings for six months and take time off while they seek answers from Lockhart.

It had truly been a blessing though, not having to be in the presence of Saul. Her testimony thus far being chilling enough they wonder how she's pulling herself together as it is. They wonder why any American citizen would ever want to be a part of that.

* * *

Summer has now ending with blooms no longer vibrant and foliage beginning to stunt. However, today a beautiful day, almost like summer had never began to hinder. Franny had loved the sandbox at the park and Carrie could kick herself for not buying one before they sold out for the summer.

"Where'd you put your shoe silly?" Carrie laughs digging through the closet.

She closes in on where it's been hiding.

"Dammit!"

_Ding dong ding dong!_

"Hang on a second!"

_Ding dong ding dong!_

"I'm coming! I'm coming!"

She doesn't bother taking a peak, it's probably only Maggie.

Her eyes flicker, not believing that he is really there, thinking she must be having another nightmare or maybe she was lucky enough to have a dream for once.

"Oh my god... oh my fucking god," she muffles into her hands covering her stunned mouth.

His face is still raw with a gaping flesh wound that should probably be stitched under his right eye and his left arm cradled in a sling. He reveals his dimples for the first time that he's been back and from that second he knows he'll be relieved from the hell that he'd allowed himself to endure for the past five months just by seeing her face again.

"Hi Carrie," his smile lingers.

"Peter... But you... but you," she removes her hands sobbing.

She buries her face in his chest feeling his lively heartbeat practically fluttering in her eardrum. He strokes her soft hair longing for her to stay there. The longer they stay like this, she reluctantly recalls how he left her all alone, slowly starting to cusp her outrage.

"God dammit Quinn," she begins to recite against his skin. "God dammit."

When she pulls back he immediately senses her resentment.

"Hey, hey now," he brushes her hair that had been covering her face behind her ear.

"Fuck Quinn!" Her anger takes over as she strikes him hard in the face, awaken the reality.

"No really Quinn what the fuck is wrong with you?" She does it again just as he begins to recover.

He's not smiling now knowing how bad he hurt her.

"I'm sorry Carrie. I fucked up," his apology sincere yet teasing.

He reaches for her hand needing it to be in his.

"Please don't fucking touch me," she denies him, pushing him away and slams the door.

She props herself against the door allowing herself to take a proper breath.

"Fuck!"

When she opens it again he hasn't moved. There eyes lock speaking what they couldn't say. As he enters the house he takes a moment noticing how bright it is with hues consisting of actual colors and how lived in it looks compared to her old place until returning his gaze back to hers.

She lunges for him first grabbing his now longer locks, holding on for dear life while meeting his waiting lips. His deep, passionate kisses sending shock waves throughout her whole body. His intensity and intentions made known as she becomes pinned between him and the wall.

"I love you Carrie Mathison," he whispers as he begins nipping at her neck. She needs him now more than ever, savoring his touch while massaging his head with her fingers asking for more.

He needs her so bad and it can't wait and he can't help but begin to reach for her breast.

"Uh Quinn," Carrie says awkwardly after finally opening her eyes.

He doesn't stop, not picking up her tone.

"Quinn!"

"Yeah," he answers but never actually stops.

"Quinn!" She screams.

"What?" He removes himself from her neck.

She places her hand on his chin moving his head to the right addressing the issue.

"We're not alone," she giggles.


	2. Tailor-made

A/N: first chapter was mostly about Carrie, now I'm getting into where Quinn's mind is.

* * *

"She walks!?" Quinn shrieks.

"Yeah what'd ya think? She's just going to lean against people her whole life?" Carrie rolls her eyes, grinning.

"Hi there pretty little girl," he coos gently in a voice hard to resist.

Damn it. Why did he have to do this to her?

"Maybe she can hang out in her crib," Carrie improvises taking action.

* * *

She tries her best to pretend she didn't do what she just did and attempts to pick up exactly where they left off. He's clumsy as they fall to the mattress, having a difficult time fumbling with her shirt one handed.

"Quinn stop. I can't do this. I can't just leave her in there wide awake," she finally protests.

He sighs.

"I mean what if she hears us!?" She increasingly begins to panic.

He stops as she requested, offering a suggestion.

"You're right let's bring her to Maggie's," he springs off the bed grabbing his shirt.

She props on her elbows, narrowing her eyes.

"Quinn!"

"Carrie," he gives a sheepish smile.

"Look she'll be ready to go down in an hour or two."

"Or two!?"

"Listen here Peter," she rises off the bed backing him into the dresser. She deliberately pushes his injured arm into him as he winces and brushes her thigh against the hardness in his jeans teasing him further. "I waited five whole months, I think you can wait a few hours!"

"Yeah," he grabs her waist, leaning in for a kiss until she walks away.

Quinn knows there's an imminent conversation that he wants to avoid at all costs. She'd had time to process his return. He stares at his sling and briefly flashes back to how he got home.

"Quinn," she says re-entering.

His mouth is hanging opening, eyes glaze, just standing there like a zombie.

"Quinn!"

If only she could hear the buzzing imitating gunfire and see the deranged images flashing in his head.

"Quinn!" She shakes him.

He flat-out jerks his whole body at her touch, coming back into reality.

"Yeah yeah what?"

"Are you okay?" She asks nervously.

"Yeah, um the painkillers. They make me sleepy," he fibs.

"Yeah," she reads right through him and he knows it.

"Come on we're ready to go," she brushes his hand to calm his nerves.

Quinn wishes that he was coherent enough to snap out of it all for good, needing to tell her that she's the only reason that he's alive. The things he did to get here. He knows they're tailor-made for each other, no denying that, which is why he's fearing conversation. Absolutely terrified of fucking it all up. It would be better if he could just hold her keeping her pacified not saying a word.

He's borderline jealous at how normal life seems to be a lucid transition for her. Like she'd never been apart what he just came from. He damn well knows he's got to man up to the decision he made, because for once it's not just about him.

"Plus I need to take Jazz for a walk. We we're suppose to go to the park," she says rushing down the stairs.

"Jazz?"

"Our puppy," she clarifies.

"You got a dog too? When?"

"I bought him for Franny for her birthday."

He displays a look of guilt for missing it.

"Don't worry it's not like I have any friends," she assures him. "We just spent the day at my sister's house and Max and Vigil came by."

"Sounds like fun," he grins. "So do you like having a dog?"

He grabs Franny from her arms and she opens the crate to get the sleepy golden retriever.

"Well he pisses all over the place, he barks at ungodly hours and he eats our shoes like it's his job, but I love this little fucker," she says rubbing the puppy's head.

"Shit!" She says trying to excuse the use of fucker in front of Franny. "I mean ugh, I still suck at that!"

"Mama woof woof."

"Yeah baby we're taking woof woof."

* * *

"What do you guys do at the park?" He asks, shamefully having no idea.

"She runs around for an hour, I run around for an hour. By the time we get home she's passed out."

"Oh. You know you're a good mom Carrie," he says as she smiles letting Franny down to play with the puppy in the open field at the park.

"Thanks."

She stops him, forcing him to look her in the eye.

"It was a yes Quinn," she delivers abruptly.

"Shit Carrie I know," he pulls her close. "I got scared... scared it wasn't."

"You should have just told me Quinn!"

"I'm sorry Carrie. I wish I could take it all back. I should have never left."

"But you did Quinn!" Carrie pulls back reading how genuinely bad he feels, needing so badly to believe he's telling the truth. That it was everything to her.

"And Dar-" she chokes.

"Did he hurt you what did he do?" He questions protectively.

"No. He just wouldn't let me speak to you."

"That son of a bitch!"

"He said I couldn't speak with you," she sobs.

"I would have been on that plane Carrie! You know that," he kisses her forehead.

How did he make it all go away just like that? Because it must be real. With Brody she had fallen in love because she knew they could never be together and it didn't work, but with Quinn it was because she knew they had to be together and it did. Now here he was integrating into her life again, almost like he'd never left and it feels good.

"I was always coming back Carrie," he lifts her chin to meet his gaze. "Always."

"I missed you Quinn, so much," she puts her arms around him.

"I missed you too."

"Shit! Franny!" She's immediately distracted by the toddler chasing the puppy into the distance.

"I got it!" Quinn takes initiative sprinting after them.

He gathers the two in one scoop. Quinn swiftly falls to the ground as the puppy begins licking his face and Franny begins using him as her own personal trampoline. Their laughter becomes an epidemic, Carrie included.

His anxiety quickly subsides and he doesn't want to be anywhere else. Perhaps it was just that easy to get out.

* * *

Teaser: next chapter is called "Making dinner?"


	3. Making dinner?

A/n: As promised here's the next one that I've drawn out for so long...

* * *

"She still out?" Carrie asks.

"Like a light," he grins. (Not that she's looking at him though.) "Are you... making dinner?"

"Yeah why?" She arches a brow.

"It's like 3 o'clock," he laughs.

"Yeah well then it's done when she gets up. O-kay Mr. smarty pants?" She mocks him.

"I didn't know you could cook."

"I can't. But I do. I have my certain dishes."

"Maybe I can help?"

He grabs the spoon for a taste of her sauce and Carrie doesn't like it, gripping his wrist before he can get the spoon into his mouth.

"You can't have a taste until it's ready," her words in more than one way piercing right through him.

Her touch disappears as she lets go and he can't take it any longer. He looms behind her taking hold of her shoulders, slowly trailing his fingers down her back and outlining her figure.

"You asking to stir the pasta?" She torments him further, pretending that he has no affect on her.

"Something like that," his voice now deeper.

"You're hungry aren't you? This early huh?"

Her provoking tactics are evil. She's torturing him. From the sexiness in her voice to the delivery of it, she's literally stirring the pot and Quinn knows what she's doing and it's not going to work for her. He can already sense her reaction as her rubs from her waist to inner thighs with both hands from behind her.

"Very," his steaming breath glistens in her ear.

As he explores her neck with his eager lips and tongue, she finally gives in, digging her fingernails into his scalp.

"Argh," the first moan escapes her.

He moves to her clavicle finding a sweet spot. Carrie aimlessly flails her hands around just barely shutting off the stove. His touch intoxicating. She knows he's leaving marks.

He grabs her by the arm, bringing her over the table where he swipes everything off that's in their way. Her posture slumps and she's barely sitting on the edge of it. Their lips are nearly bruised and bodies swelling with desire, almost sucking each others' face off. He can hardly stand it when he realizes that she soaking right through her pants when he moves his hand between her legs.

His hands continue to be a problem for her even as he's undressing her. Every touch sending a tingle almost too much to take. He's patient, yet productive.

She lets him stop to take off his own shirt, giving her just enough time to recoup. His lips and tongue make their own travel path of course, no destination forgotten about. Another detour for him as he gets to her waste. This time he's more urgent with it, quickly dropping her pants and panties to the floor.

He's gentle at first, teasing her already wet clit with his calloused fingers. Her head tilts back the second he does, she steadies her hands behind her. He lowers himself, parking her legs on his shoulders and begins with slow flicks finding the rhythm she desires.

As her moaning increases, he dives his tongue deeper. Skillful laps from his tongue coursing through her, bringing her closer to the edge.

"Ugh, ugh, Quinn!" She screams.

He ups the speed without notice and she raises her hips to meet his thrusting tongue. So intense she grabs the back of his strong neck for support in the final seconds, fearing that the pure ecstasy will knock her right over.

"Quinn! Quinn!" She screams again as he makes her come.

Carrie falls back onto the table, gradually coming down from the amazing show he had put on, catching her breath.

As she recovers, he smiles as he frees himself from the oppressive jeans that had been caging in his throbbing hardness. He pulls her up and she whimpers at the mere sight of his size.

"Quinn please!"

He moves her further onto the table, climbing up himself and delicately rests her head at the other end. He steadies himself on top of her, taking a minute before entering her, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

"I love you," he whispers, planting a kiss on her lips.

She says nothing but smiles. She gasps as he thrusts into her and she pulls his face down, tangling his tongue with her own. As he quickens the pace, he removes his mouth from hers and her head tilts back once more. She locks her ankles on top of his and the table is now gradually sliding with their movements.

The screeching noise becomes overly erotic and she locks eyes with his gaze, unintentionally scrapping his back with her painted nails leaving brutal scratches. He welcomes the pain, yet taken aback and lost in the moment and they're both on the brink.

"Carrie," he shouts.

His strokes are almost violent and she wraps her legs around his back inviting him closer.

"Ugh, I love you Quinn," she barely let's out.

He's at the point on no return. Their faces and chests are flushed. They couldn't possibly be closer. He climaxes first, continuing his pumps and seconds later she comes again, simultaneously drawing out each others' orgasms.

He's so limp, it's hard not to collapse right on top of her especially when she's not letting go. Instead he props himself up kissing her neck, relishing her glow and soft smile.

Eventually he falls beside her, flooded with emotion that he never knew existed. He unexpectedly releases soft cries, hardly audible.

"Hey, hey," she rubs his chest. "What's the matter?

He's utterly embarrassed with his emotions, wanting to pretend like it never happened.

"Nothing. Nothing! I just missed you so much," he chokes.

She runs her hand over the side of his face encouraging him to embrace how he feels.

"It's okay you know, to feel how you feel," she ensures him.

He doesn't speak, only wraps his arms around her, holding on tight. Even if it's just for awhile.

* * *

At the hanger he's waving goodbye and she's waving right on back. She doesn't even know why she's smiling because he's leaving, but she is. He's leaving again and she let him go.

The plane ascends down the runway as she blows a kiss at him watching from the window. He said he'd be back in three days. Not two, not four, three.

It lifts of the ground, but something's not right. Everything is all wrong. The first wing flies off instantly killing the flag man as Carrie looks on in horror.

She screams bloody murder and couldn't be any louder. Flames erupt sending the aircraft into a spiral downward. They're about to go down.

She gasps as she rises, feeling her heart pounding right out of her chest. Another pool of sweat surrounding her. There's still screaming, although it's not her. She searches the bed and he's gone. He's vanished. She panics immediately, until she hears the calmness of his voice. She rushes to find him.

"Shhhhhh. It's okay I'm here," he soothes the screaming child, circling her back and holding her close.

"What happened!?" Carrie is frantic.

"Nothing. Nothing. She must have had a nightmare," he relays to her. "You were dead asleep. I came in for myself."

She takes her from his arms, further calming Franny down with just the sound of her voice.

"It's okay baby girl. Mama's here."

He's not too sure if he has intruded.

"Thank you Quinn. She doesn't like to sleep alone," she admits. "She usually... she usually sleeps with me."

"Well why doesn't she just sleep with us?" He proposes.

"Really? You wouldn't care?"

"Not at all," he grins.


	4. Eggshells

A/N: not much here, but it's really setting up for everything that's coming.

* * *

The smell wakes him immediately. A simple aroma that he had missed for so long these past few weeks while on his own. He shifts cautiously blinded by the sun, as if he expected it to still be dark. The last time he woke up to the sun was because his plane was landing across the world. Best night of sleep he can remember, yet still can't get up.

"Morning," she sets down the coffee on the night stand. "Sleep okay?"

He rubs his eyes thoroughly in attempt to see her clearer.

"Yeah," he smiles. "You?"

"Yeah," she says shyly. "Well when both of you are here how could I not?"

"Good," he grabs the mug downing most of it at once.

As she sits on the bed beside him, he put her hand in his, planting a kiss on her lips. "Thanks for the coffee."

"So," she begins slowly, "what kind of 'normal' things would you like to do today?"

He stalls like he's searching for a way to say it, until he does.

"I"m going to Langley today," he says quickly sucking down the rest of his coffee.

"Do they know? Do they know that you're alive?" She'd never thought to ask until now. It almost stings saying it out loud.

"Maybe. Dar probably does," he answers her honestly.

"Probably. So debrief and then what?"

"I'll spend the day with you," he grins.

He can't find a way to ask the question he'd been dying to know. The thing he asked her to do a long time ago. She sees it in his eyes asking, decides to tell him herself.

"I'm still there Quinn."

"You are?" He's completely awake now.

"I am... but I haven't been there since June. Mandatory leave of absence they call it."

He waits for a moment. For the exact amount of time he'll think she'll answer it without recognizing his motives.

"Are you going back?"

"I think so," she replies seemly defensive. The way he didn't want her to react.

"Okay then," he smiles.

"Okay," she smiles back. "I'll bring you there," she tells him rather than asks. Her hand drifts off his as she leaves. "Get ready."

* * *

The drive to Langley contains little conversation. They're both a bundle of nerves. She doesn't want to ask about the mission, not now anyways. How many people had died? Quinn doesn't ask why she's staying either. Was this because of his mission, to get back at him or because she really missed it. He wants to think it's the latter. To not have her go fly out and put herself in harm's way because of something he had done. The mistake he made. He knew she wasn't going far even if she did stay though. Her end would be more fair than what he'd done and he really wants a way to make it up to her. She remembers to tell him something as they get close.

"Saul's going to be the director," she shoots out of thin air.

"The what?" He says as if she stuttered.

"The director."

"Saul?"

"I don't want to talk about it all now. Not before your debrief. Just thought you should know."

"Glad I do."

Something isn't right with it, he can just tell.

"Have you talked to Saul?"

"No," she says.

"I'll see you in a few hours Carrie?"

"Yeah."

"I'll call you," he assures her. "I will."

He leans in for a quick kiss, not caring who sees. Neither does she really.

He exits without anything else. No bye or I love you, but she knows he does. It's his way of saying 'I'm not going anywhere'.

As she pulls away she feels something in the pit of her stomach. Something about coming here again. She parks, nursing her thoughts.

The place in front of her was her life. A place of work, worship, a restaurant and hotel at times it seemed. Practically her home.

Construction crews had left, finally finishing the new building. She's dying to see the finished product. Dying to know what's going on. Can only fathom what she's missed, relying only on world new stations that were not giving her anything satisfying enough, just speculation

She's still aching over the way she'd left her legacy there. Whether or not it was her fault all she thought about were the people who lost their lives on her watch. She's not seeking revenge, but doesn't want to go out how she did. She wants it right.

Carrie looks at Franny in the backseat, not making a fuss. Franny smiles maybe thinking they've driven to the park. She sighs. At this point there bond is unbreakable. Something she once deemed impossible. These past months she had given her time to Franny, although ultimately time that she could never make up. It was all she could do. She feels guilty, but only for a second. Why can't she just have both?

"Come on baby."

Carrie walks up the sidewalk approaching the front door like she hadn't missed a day. But she did, five months of it all. She had almost forgotten how bad she missed this place. The pride that went with it. Carrie gets them both a visitor's badge figuring that her own was not active. Franny treats it like a toy though.

"See, this is where mommy works," she tells Franny, while slipping on her badge.

* * *

Her nerves calm as she gets closer, getting stopped almost every 50 ft because of the baby. It's a distraction from the destination. A good one though. Even stopped by people who she didn't think got along with her. She finally arrives on the floor, prepared as ever, glad she had waited for the dust to settle.

"Hi Susan is he here?" Carrie greets the receptionist.

"Carrie Mathison!" The woman scolds her.

"What!? What's wrong?" She's mildly panicked now.

Susan gets off her feet, coming around to meet her.

"I cannot believe you waited over a year to bring her in!" She says.

"Oh yeah," Carrie says relieved. "Sorry."

"Hi. And what's your name sweetie?" She asks Franny.

Carrie still can't figure out why people do that, even though she does it too.

"Franny," Carrie tells her. "Is he here?" She's quick with it again, heart racing.

"Yes," she says continuing to talk to the child in the process. "I'll let him know you're here."

"Send her in," she hears him saying over the intercom.

"Do you want me to?" Susan asks.

"Yeah, yeah you can take her."

Carrie wastes no time heading in.

"Carrie you look good. Please sit," Saul tells her.

"No that's okay. I'm good here."

"Okay... I didn't think you would return to be honest," he's smug.

"Why not?"

"After what happened."

"After what happened?" She snarls. "Of course I'm coming back. It was mandatory! I couldn't yet!" She finally sits on her own terms.

She's dancing around it and he gets nervous.

"Are you done with the hearings?"

"Nope."

"You mind me asking what you told them?" He's practically begging for her to have not said anything about him.

"I don't even remember," she's vague.

"What if they ask you again? What will you remember?" He persists.

She's got him. She doesn't need to ask if his position is secured, it's not. His job will be up for grabs until those hearings are over.

"I'm not sure. It's mostly a blur," she's still cold with him.

He's cornered and he knows it.

"What do want Carrie?"

"Your old job," she's to the point now.

"Done," he says without question.

"Good," she rises. "I'll see you in a few weeks," she walks out without a goodbye.

She exits stopping at the other side of the door, proud of what she had accomplished. Just as she planned, he was submissive. Catered to her with no other choice. Sure there was no video, but if enough people started to bring it up it would be in question.

'Fuck you Saul,' she says to herself with a smile.

"Hi thank you," she says to Susan who hands Franny to her.

"Will I be seeing you around Carrie?"

"You will."

"Well as long as you bring in that baby again before Christmas, I'll let you back in."

"I'll try."

* * *

He runs to the car after being there practically all day, worried she'll be mad. The voicemail made her laugh when he said 'I'll text you every hour. Call me if you want, but I have meetings... I'll try to answer. Love you.' Then followed by dozens of texts.

He sprints when he see her pulling up.

"I'm sorry Carrie," he jumps in the front seat.

He's giddy. His hands are running across his knees and he's antsy. She wasn't worried, but now she is.

"What's wrong with you?" She asks pulling away.

"I'm done!" He says accompanied by a freakish sounding laughter. "I quit the group. That's what took me so long."

_Is this what manic looks like?_ She thinks.

"Jesus Quinn! Just like that!?"

"Yep. I told them it was because of you!" His smile is from ear to ear.

"Quinn why did you do that!? I still have a hearing to go to!"

"Because it's the truth. You're not happy about this?" He frowns.

"Well I am. But you could have saved that part!"

"That was the third time that we talked about you Carrie. I had to tell them."

"What do you mean third time?" He's absolutely stumped her.

"Your name came up... a lot."

"Before today?" She questions.

"Before today," he answers.

"How long has it been Quinn?" She asks carefully. "How long have you been in love with me?"

"Awhile." His expression has never looked so pure.

"When?" She's curious.

"I can't even remember."

"Try," she asks nicely.

He can, it's just hard to tell her.

"Quinn we're walking on eggshells. We don't need to do that. I don't want to do that," she's serious. "I want us to be completely honest with each other."

A look of relief washes over his face.

"Neither do I! I want that too Carrie."

"From now on."

"I promise Carrie," he takes her hand.

There's a silence lingering until he tells her.

"When you did what you did for Saul, that's when I knew. I had to stop myself every night from driving to the hospital and getting you out myself. I.. I just wanted to protect you. I'm not even sure I knew it then, but I do now."

"Wow," she's almost teary. "I can''t believe I didn't know for so long."

"I wanted to tell you," he continues.

"No Quinn. Thank you for telling me."

They're silent again. She looks tense.

"Um... I wanted to tell you that I didn't read your letter. I couldn't," she spits out slowly.

"Do you want to?" He asks.

"Yes. No secrets okay?"

He nods.

"I want you to."


	5. Tangible graveyard

A/N: just you'll see..

* * *

His mood changes after he said it. He's stiff for most of drive, in fact looks nervous. In this moment she wants to know more than ever what he'd written. What had said. Why he wanted her to read it.

She spots that nasty gash on his left forearm. It must be poorly stitched because it's bleeding right through the gauze. Quinn looks at it slightly, as if it's just ordinary, then back at her. He can't stop looking at her.

"Why'd you take of your sling yesterday?" She asks.

"It's fine Carrie. It didn't hit the bone."

"Quinn you should get that looked at. I don't like that you're using that arm."

"I had to take it off. I had to touch you."

She glances at him promptly, examining his state. Much like he'd done to her in the past.

"You should rest some more when we get home."

_Home?_ He thinks.

Her hand is actually starting to hurt with how tight he is holding on. The twinning structure making their palms clammy, sweat being the only barrier. She can't find it in her to tell him to let go. He must need it.

"Where's Franny?" He finally asks, loosening his grip somewhat.

"She's at Maggie's. I brought Jazz over there too."

"Oh."

"Quinn are you okay?"

"I'm with you," he turns to her smiling, illuminating a sense of euphoria.

* * *

The house is dead silent when they enter. Carrie hadn't been use to that. She sets her keys on the table and sinks into the couch. Quinn relaxes with her, conforming with her as they fall asleep, her head and hand lie on his chest.

Hours later she wakes first and quietly begins picking up the house, careful not to wake him. She calls her sister to see how Franny is doing directly after. Maggie tells her that the girls want her to sleep over.

She sees that he's still sleeping and makes her way upstairs. For some reason she can't remember where she put the it. It had just been two months that she'd gotten it, but it's gone. She tears apart her dresser, her safe, and her junk drawer in the kitchen, but nothing. Creating a bigger mess than there was before.

"Carrie," he stumbles into the kitchen yawning.

_Shit!_

"What are you doing?"

"I can't find it Quinn. I can't find the letter," she says defeated.

"It's okay. It's okay," he assures her.

"No it's not!" Her brow furrows. "I probably just fucking threw it away or something!"

Quinn lowers himself to meet her kneeling on the ground.

"Come on let's do something, let's go somewhere," he says rubbing her back tentatively.

He's not angry about her losing it, just angry that he wrote it to begin with. Pissed at himself that he put her in this predicament at all. He had no right.

"Right now?" She questions his spontaneity

"Right now."

Carrie shuts the drawer, receptive of his offer. This is exactly what they needed, something normal.

"Where do you want to go?"

He helps her off the ground realizing he hadn't even thought about that part.

"Where ever you'd like."

"I know a place. I'll get ready."

"I don't have anything to wear," he reminds her.

"You better go shopping then."

* * *

She'd taken awhile to get to get ready. Every element of her appearance coordinated. Her curled hair, diamond studs, her fitted knife pleat navy blue dress, stilettos she never thought she'd wear again all in tact. She can't pinpoint that last time she went on a date. A real date. She's excited really. Her last being a day trip with Franny to Bounce World last Friday.

His truck is not yet in sight from her bedroom window. She looks out for so long her hand print forms into the glass.

"Fuck Quinn, where are you?" she mutters.

After a a half hour of waiting silently on the couch she doesn't even want to call. It becomes quite obvious why he had made up that he wanted to go out with her. He just couldn't stay. She wonders about everything else he'd told her today, if he was telling the truth. It consumes her. Figures the only way not to think about is to go to Maggie's to pick up Franny.

It's when she goes to start her car, she hears it. Quinn whispering to himself, rehearsing actually. She can't believe that she just convinced herself he wouldn't show.

The door clicks startling him instantly.

"Carrie... Carrie," his inflection changes drastically as he notices her polished appearance.

"How long have you been out here!?"

"An hour?" He guesses. "You look... beautiful," the words escape his lips like she'd never heard before.

"Thanks," she smiles.

"Here... uh these are for you," his grin appears once again while handing her the roses that she hadn't noticed in his hand.

She stares at them pensively. Never having received them before.

"Thank you Quinn," she leans in for an embrace.

She can't believe her doubt in him that she held moments before.

His muscles are still tight and tense from earlier, she wonders when it will go away.

"Really, you look great," he says.

"You too," she clutches his bicep through his black button down. "Ready?"

* * *

It's not anywhere too fancy, but she just wanted to go somewhere familiar. The bar is casual offering an array of notable wines and liquors. Since she's been home, she's come here twice with Maggie. She had admitted a lot to her sister on those nights. A lot that she'd never told anyone before.

Quinn stares around at the club looking quite overwhelmed. He'd never been to a place like this before.

"You good?"

"Yeah Carrie. I've never been anywhere like this before. Do they have a bar?" He says at they enter.

"Are you kidding me? Come on."

There happen to be a couple seats wide open front and center and Carrie is eager to get him a drink, hoping that he'll loosen up a bit.

"Carrie," the bartender Louie shouts.

"Hey Louie can we both get a shot of crown? And get me a Washington apple."

"Very good and for-"

"Peter," he introduces himself. "I'll have whatever is on tap, you choose... So you two know each other?" He asks to both of them as Louie prepares the drinks.

"You can say that. I practically used to live here between tours," she says.

"Live here?"

She nods head, playfully shamed.

Louie then adds his own opinion.

"This girl I tell you, she leave this place for over two years and each day I know she'd come back," his thick accent more prominent now. "Then she come back from another place and I told her she must stay."

"I think she will," Quinn says.

He's laid back after this, igniting conversations with everyone around them, Carrie sometimes joining in too. Mostly just talking to the people she already knows that had been acquaintances, discussing the music.

It's apparent to her that his eyes flutter to her every few moments even if he's still engaged in conversation. Quinn particularly acknowledges her investment in each song that plays. He loves the passion she has for it, a side he'd never seen before. Passion for something other than the job.

Everything going well until someone asks them to play a game.

"You play darts?"

"We can, sure. Come on Quinn."

They're a bit flimsy from the alcohol, though Quinn's not looking to win any throphies.

"It's called cut throat Quinn, not hit the throats of the band on the poster for next week."

The group laughs with her.

She's got a decent shot, but she's pissed that Quinn's purposefully missing each shot.

"I've only got hand," he defends himself.

"You only need one," she narrows her eyes. "Come on Quinn."

"Aren't you having fun? It's a game Carrie," he reminds her, whispering into her ear.

"Yes but I'd be having more if we won."

He locks his eyes on the board, measuring up the targets quickly. A task too simple for him to ever forget. It's practically in his dna. They leave his hand one by one, each dart craming into the bulls. The third actually spitting the first down the center.

Everyone's staring at him now, astonished with his play. Others just purely shocked like something is wrong with him. He doesn't know what to say. Instead he walks out.

Carrie apologizes for his disappearing, joking that he's a light weight and probably had to throw up. But she saw the look in his eyes when it happened. That cold blooded mode that she'd seen before. She's scared for him all over again. Just then she realizes where she put it. It's with the rest of them.

"Quinn," she calls to the shadow puffing on a cigarette in the alley.

"Are you mad at me?" He says

"No. I'm not mad at you Quinn. Let's go home."

* * *

As he waits in the living room, she returns with a shoe box. It's slightly worn, yet new in a way. It opens like a drawer and she begins sorting through the contents; a picture of Fara, an article about Brody, her father's obituary. His heart is racing. He'd been deposited in a place of those that she'd lost. A tangible graveyard hidden away. To hide the pain.

Carrie finds the envelope fairly close to the top. It hasn't been opened just like she said.

"I want to know Quinn," she tells him

"Go ahead. Read it."

She slowly folds it and begins reading it without thinking about what she's doing.

_'Carrie,'_

Her chin already begins to quiver after just reading her name.

_'We're suppose to write these letters to our families, to our loved ones. The truth I've never had anybody in my life that I could call family or a loved one. I'm what they call an orphan. So this is to you.'_

His breathing increasing having never revealed that to anyone before. He refuses to take his hand off of her to remind her that he's right here. Not wanting her to get lost in the reality of his goodbye.

_'I spent a lot of my time living in the past and present, forgetting about a future. The only future I imagined included you. But I can't let anything go. That's __my burden. This is the real me Carrie. But it's over now, no more regrets.'_

The first tears appears, but she reads on.

_'I didn't run away from you, I went on this mission to protect my brothers when they needed me. Don't you ever think that please. I care about them too. I had to. I'm sorry I can't explain it better, I'm not sure I can. They really did need me. I've always liked to feel needed and wanted.'_

All she can think about is the pain he had. The pain he still holds onto and she couldn't even recognize it before. Her tears now pooling in her eyes.

_'Although they're not my real brothers, they're the closest thing to a family that I had. I'm no hero but I've spent my life protecting them and our country. It's how I survived. I joined the group after my time in the military. Dar trained and recruited me. He taught me everything I know. He taught me how to survive. I wish I could have this time. It would have been nice to see your face again. It would have been nice to hear a 'yes' from you. It was nice being with you. It was nice protecting you.'_

_'Enough about me... I want to talk about you...'_

She smiles slightly laughing, releasing the droplets. An intention he'd hoped for when he wrote it, making her smile.

_'I hope you that you remember everyday_ _that you are loved. Your family, they're special. Hold onto that, it's something you should never let go of. They see the love in you too. You're not alone, you never were.'_

She stops for a minute not sure if she can continue as the page becomes flooded, but sees Quinn who's not scared at all. Patiently waiting for her to be ready, like he always had.

_'I can't say I know exactly what love feels like, but I hope for the sake of mankind that it's what I feel for you. How I felt everyday when I was with you. You have so much of it to give. I hope you see what I saw in you and run with it._

_I couldn't make it on my own and I hope you understand that now. You were my home. My only home. But you, you're different. You're stronger than me. I don't want you to mourn over me or cry. If you do, wipe them away. Just be happy that I got out. Just be happy._

_Love, _

_Quinn.'_


	6. A tier above

A/N: Quinn continues to battles his transition from Syria.

* * *

"Fuck Quinn," she nestles into him as he brushes her hair, still slightly sobbing. His heart beats faster as she strokes his chest, as if she's making sure he's still with her. She's waiting for him to say what's on his mind.

"I was um... wondering Carrie... if you mind me staying here?" He asks gently, almost a joke.

"Shut up Quinn," her sob breaks into a laughter.

He can't even take how much he loves it when she laughs.

"I thought about you," he states. "Everyday." He wants the living Quinn to speak now.

"I wanted to... go-" she chokes.

"I didn't want you to."

"I mean I couldn't. I couldn't leave her."

"I'm glad you didn't. So fucking glad," he muffles into the top of her head. "There were more right? More letters?" He asks after a few moments of silence.

Carrie nods regretfully, but he was going to find out anyways.

She sits there thinking about how lonely he has been, like herself. How she'd never truly scoped him like that. Her own world too much then to ever consider his from that angle. About how he has no one, not a god damn person. Who Dar fucking Adal, who has been manipulating him for the past 18 years?

At least she has Maggie - and Franny for that matter. She still thanks Maggie everyday for taking her when she couldn't. God she can't even breath thinking about the point in time that they were apart. How she'd truly been a gift, just like Quinn said she'd be. The regret of Kabul and Islamabad subtle, yet constantly lurking beneath the surface.

And then there was Max who came by often too, mostly to talk. He needed someone after all that shit and she'd known it. He'd grown to love this side of her.

Plus oddly enough, Mira had stopped by a few times too, never bringing up Saul, just them. She finally left his sorry ass. His hypnosis no longer effective on either of them.

* * *

Carrie falls asleep slowly on his chest, caressing it where his heart is until she succumbs to it. Quinn watches her for a few minutes until he knows for sure that she's completely out.

He travels up the steps sluggishly when he realizes how late it is - already two a.m. When he hovers her over the bed, he waits to set her down. It becomes clear how much he enjoys holding her in his arms, knowing how safe she is. Her hair is sloppy over her face and he brushes it away when he finally sets her down, taking in her beauty.

It's when the first rumble of thunder hits when he looks away, not expecting it. She stirs slightly, but that's it. He looks at what he's wearing, remembering that his bag of clothes was in his truck. The only thing he has. He knew she'd be comfortable in that dress, having no concern about that.

He stares out the window, waiting for it to let up - it doesn't, but he wants his stuff, his. The water splashes all over his pants when he darts through the huge puddles that are forming quickly in the driveway. He clutches it, but is patient getting back - figures he's soaked anyway.

As he steps back onto the porch where he spots that the front window is open, just a crack. Enough to be a big enough problem for him. He fixes it right away, but can't stop himself from checking the others, just in case.

He finds another in the kitchen and he's upset now. Upset that he didn't notice and that it was a problem. That they weren't entirely safe.

That's what he does and he wasn't doing his job. He has a difficult time closing it and wonders how long it'd been like that. If Carrie just let it go because she couldn't get it. It sickens him that he'd left her.

Quinn sits in the kitchen floor, in the corner of the cupboards recalling his last two months in Syria. How he hid in a crawl space for three days - not moving a fucking inch - so he could live. All while there was rain seeping into his small plot. They'd kill him of they did. The one man in particular would recognize him.

He was without a weapon for most of that time, sneaking around before he got a chance to leave. Meals were scarce then. The scope of finishing what he started still intrigues him, but he doesn't want to tell Carrie. That he'd only left because he had a chance to, but he knows things would have worked out if he'd stayed to finish the job. It's constantly on his mind, but he'd made a promise to her. 'Another day' he's told himself the past two days. One of these days it's going to be the right day, if only time weren't an issue.

Quinn lifts himself off the floor, shivering from his drenched clothes. The shower calls his name, having more in the past couple days than he had in a month. He stands still as the steam trickles down his face and torso, continuing to think about what she was thinking about everything. Starts to contemplate if she'd fucked anyone else since he was gone. If she really wanted him there at all. If she was going to tell him to leave tomorrow or the next day. Maybe she was just being nice to him. Or maybe he was so fucked up that he was just imagining being here.

"Fuck!" He starts to wipe the water out of his eyes. It's clouding everything.

The letter hadn't helped one bit like he thought it would. They are the words of a dead man. Words that hadn't acted out, played out, followed through with. He doesn't even remember writing all those words, but he wants every one of them to be true - the part about her. If one little thing goes wrong, she has the fucking proof, the goddamn evidence.

He just wants be be okay. To forget about everything else, but can't. No matter how hard he tries it's still with him. And he convinces himself it's still with her, no matter how long ago she was there. She probably just thinks he's fucked up. Feels like he's a tier above the line beneath the worse that she could do. If he's the best she could hope for, he's hardly the best. He turns up the steam attempting to burn the thoughts out of his mind. Erase them from existence. When was this - being home - going to get fucking easier? Maybe she did know the answer to that. Reminds himself to ask.

He digs through his bag when he steps out, still dripping. There's nothing without a stain on it. They're tainted from Syria. All not good enough. He settles for his boxers sinks next to her, begging for sleep to come. It does after an hour or so.

* * *

She wakes before him, a distance between them. Quinn's resting like he usually did, looks ready to wake at a moments notice. Not at all like he had the night before though. It's nice though she thinks that he doesn't have to be up, or anywhere, not anymore anyways. He could live without that now.

She'd heard though, in the middle of the night. Sleep didn't come to him as easily. Within him, she knows that a part of him is still there and it was going to take time. It did for her. She's relieved at how lucky they've been to even still be breathing. It's enough for her at the moment.

His eyes flutter with the sun sending a blazing glare through the window. At first he doesn't move, doesn't even look at her. Silently gazes at the ceiling, he forces his divided attention to her.

"Hi," she says propping her head in her hand, elevated by her elbow.

His smile is weak, and empty, he's as off as she thought.

"I heard you walking around last night," she begins to delve into his reason.

"I'm sorry," he says moving his focus away once more.

Carrie brushes her fingers to the sensitive spot just below his jaw with her hand to get something from him, she's still not satisfied with his light smile.

"You read the words of a dead man..." Her face flops as he begins, confused about where he's going. "...but I meant it Carrie. The part about you. I want you to be happy."

"I know. I am happy Quinn," she say matter-of-factly.

"You can... tell me if-" he stops. "I'll get it." His self-confidence is appalling.

She props herself further up on the bed just watching him follow her with his eyes. He's curious of what she's going to do and say.

"Just you," is all she says.

She realizes she's right. He isn't over what he'd done, elsewhere he'd been. It was going to take time, but she wants to help him. There's no one else.

Quinn takes deeper breaths, looks more tense than ever. She wants it gone. Completely.

There both snug under the covers, cold from the recent rain. Her free hand travels to his abdomen slowly making it's way to the length of his cock, cupping him through the soft fabric of his boxers. A decent smile finally appears. It's the Quinn she wants to see.

She massages him thoroughly, awakening him from this mysterious slump. The tension already beginning to fade away. His growing erection is freed when she pulls down the band on his boxers, just enough.

Quinn pulls the covers away to get a decent view of her soft hand as she begins to stroke him. Soon enough his head sinks into his pillow, eyes shut.

"Uh. Uh yeah," his voice almost a whisper.

Carrie shifts her hand, working to constrict the top of his shaft with her grip.

"Oh fuck Carrie."

She leans into him, pressing her lips to his. He reaches up and cards his fingers firmly through her messy hair, embracing her kiss. The coordination never interrupted as his tongue explodes in a way she'd never think could happen. It's good though, he's letting himself go.

She pulls back grinning like she's just robbed him. He doesn't seem to mind though. His grin is a beautiful thing.

Quinn's losing his coveted control that he had so often occupied. His hips start to work up to thrust into her hand. The muscles of his abdomen palpitating slightly, driving her mad, so fucking tight. He's leaning into her like he needs her, like he's desperate for her and just her. Carrie needs, him to come, because if he doesn't soon she's going to lose her mind. Her is body tingling at the sight of him.

"Quinn," her words are little slurred. His enjoyment nearly intoxicating to her.

The sound of her voice is enough. It happens right then as he gives one final groan, eyes drifting completely shut. He spills over her fist and his body in a strangely alluring way. She continues thrusting her hand until his eyes open.

His absolute bliss is obvious, because his hands pull tight around her arm bringing her closer, partially on top of him. He's like a fucking tarp now. She feels like she could just drag him off the bed and he wouldn't even care, just float. He's simply alive and needs to know it.


	7. The icing on the cake

A/N: A much lighter chapter than the last few. I'll get into Saul/the cia soon.

* * *

They lay there and he begins brushing her hair with his fingers. Soon enough he's giving her vigorous head massage. Decisive, specifically for her. There was no way that he was going to let her get away unscathed.

He has amazing hands. Carrie didn't even think it was possible to become aroused by someone touching your head. Whatever he was doing though, shouldn't be described as touching.

She turns her body, wrapping her legs around his right thigh, rocking against his body with her hips.

As her hot breath smokes his neck, he becomes lively again. She can feel his hardness against her outer thigh.

He's trying to move his other hand down further, but she's tight against him. She shifts her body slightly to let him. He pulls up the skirt to her dress slightly, slips his hand down her panties, and begins to rub painfully slow circles around her clit as he continues massaging her head with the other.

Carrie presses her legs together - not meaning to - making it difficult for him, but he knows she's wet anyways. He abruptly stops, tasting what he has on his finger, waiting to see what she wants. She climbs off of him, but only to eliminate her panties. Astride him now she smiles.

"Hi," he says

"Hi."

The pulse between her legs is becoming too much. She lifts up her dress and her hips as he guides her down onto his cock, filling her completely. Quinn's hands grab hers holding her in place as she begins turning and swiveling her hips, thoroughly satisfying herself. Squeezing him with her inner muscles, he groans and bites his lip as he watches.

Bending down, she meets his lips. His hands release themselves from hers, making it clear he wants her dress gone. He hikes it up further and further until she has to help him, rising again as she lifts it over her head. Then she unclasps her bra and he throws it on the floor. He arches upward taking a nipple in his mouth holding her opposite hip with his hand.

"Ugh... fuck Quinn," she whimpers. He sucks and licks both until he's practically out of breath.

Both hands now hold her in place as she levers herself up and down on the length of his cock. He instinctively meets her with his thrust. She can't even look into his eyes right now with the intensity of his gaze. Carrie's head tilts back as she rides him, almost slipping out of him a few times. Her energy dissipating quicker than she expected.

She leans forward now, holding herself up on his tight stomach. His sperm is still spewed all over it and her touching him causes him to involuntarily moan. So tight now she can hardly move in and out of him, down to the root.

Quinn props himself up further, creating a sudden change in friction, able to move again.

"Qu- Qu- Qu- Quinn," she cries.

"I'm gonna come," he says groaning.

She clenches around him even more, his twitching cock filling her. Pressing her hips into him for a final time, she's comes, barely able to move now. Still mounting him, she collapses on his chest. He shifts them to their sides, exhausted himself, planting a kisses on her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispers.

She slides off of him, just staring at him eventually drifting back to sleep, his arms tight yet comfortable around her. Quinn watches her for awhile before shutting his eyes himself. It's much easier this time.

* * *

"Hey get dressed," she finally wakes him.

"Where are we going?" he sits up slightly.

"Dinner at Maggie's tonight."

He wants it to be okay. He always wants to asks if it's okay. But she makes everything okay somehow.

"How long have you been awake?" He asks.

"Four hours. You've been sleeping for six."

He shrugs.

"I'm going to shower," he gets out of bed baring his naked body. "And I'm not wearing that sling!"

"Hurry," she slaps his ass. He hopes she left a mark to he can admire later.

He walks out completely shaved, hair buzzed off.

"You plan on being a soldier anytime soon?" She jokes.

"You worried?" He wraps his arms around her.

"No," she laughs. "I just don't know what I'm going to hang... onto."

"Oh? I can think of something," his hands begin to roam again.

"Quinn we really got to go," she says.

He backs away, "No fair."

"No really we have to. It's the first time she hasn't slept here since we moved a few months ago."

"Oh," he backs away further. "That's my fault."

"No it's not."

"It isn't?"

"No... and it's fine. I just want to get there, like now."

"I didn't make anything. Aren't I suppose to do that?" He remembers.

"I made something... well I tried to. I made chocolate cake."

"My favorite," he says.

"No fucking way?" She questions.

"Way," he mocks her.

"Shit! I definitely fucked it up then."

* * *

They're a little late, but Carrie made sure to notify Maggie that he was coming. The last thing Quinn needed was an awkward reunion with her sister.

All three girl struggle to get to the table, spending their time playing with the puppy; teaching him fetch, letting him pull their shirts, allowing him to lick their faces. Until Quinn lifts him into the air to put him in his crate. Franny now see Carrie, running towards her and wrapping her arms around her leg.

"Up mama."

Carrie raises her into the air, wondering how she was without her there.

"Did she sleep good?" She asks Maggie.

"Yeah... well with me," Maggie sort of frowns. "It's a bad habit Carrie."

She sighs.

"I know."

"I'm going to get the food. Can you guys set the table?" Maggie asks.

"I got it," Quinn immediately offers.

"You sure?" Carrie asks.

"Well," he points to the girls trying to reopen the gate.

* * *

"You girls really don't want dessert?" Maggie asks as they go back to their previous task of playing with the puppy.

Ruby eyes up Carrie setting down that cake, ensuring herself that she made the right call. It's round and flat, and there's barely any frosting covering it.

"I'll take some," Quinn begins to cut into it.

"Me too," Maggie says.

Carrie begins to try her own cake. All she can think of is that it's better than her last. She checks on her audience to be sure.

"It's good," they both say. Although Quinn is nursing his water glass and Maggie is taking an extraordinary amount of time between bites.

"Come on. Just say it... it's bad."

Quinn is thankfully still drinking his water.

"No, no," Maggie tells her. "I'm just full."

Quinn sets down his glass, ready to tell her. He knows that he'd want to know.

"I know what it's missing."

"Thank you," she gets animated now, raising her arms. "What?"

"Well first of all it's missing the eggs."

"Shhhhhhit," she whispers so that the kids don't hear her.

Maggie is relishing the humor Quinn is providing for them.

"And second?"

"Where did you get this frosting?"

She wants to lie about because it's so embarrassing.

"I tried to make one for her birthday. Had to throw it away. That frosting is what's left from the container."

"Explains that," he grins.

"And?" She winces, hoping that was it.

"Dry as a bone! How long was it in the oven?"

"How do you know so much about cake?"

He begins telling them, not exactly knowing why

"I was 8. Old lady Betsy," he stops and hesitates. But they're into it, they want to know. "She would bake one every Friday if she had the money. I would run into the house and she would have a can of condensed milk, waiting for me so I could pour it in. And she would say 'Johnny now you pour all of that in. We don't want it to get dry'. She knew I liked to do it."

He sits there lost into thinking about his past. Carrie sees it, hoping he would talk about it more.

"I know about cake," he shrugs.

Franny face plants on the floor, halting Quinn's story.

"Shit!" Carrie immediately jumps to get her.

Soon after her fall, they take off for the night, packing Franny and Jazz into the car saying goodnight. He's not tense, but rather deep in thought. Focusing on more than just the road.

"Thank you... for tonight," she tells him.

"You don't have to say that. I didn't do anything."

"I mean, thank you for talking about you."

He takes a deep breath.

"I like to tell you things."

She smiles with this said.

"Just tell me what you want to hear Carrie, I'll tell you."

"Anything. Whenever it comes to you."

* * *

Back at the house, Carrie can't possibly give Franny anymore ibprofen. Each time she puts her to bed, she back in there within 10 minutes. Finally, she can't bare to do it again.

Franny is resting on Carrie's chest as she rubs her back, trying to get her to fall asleep.

"I'm going to take him out," Quinn tells her as the puppy pulls the leash.

"Oh thank you! I almost forgot."

"Meet me in bed?"

"Yeah as soon as she falls asleep."

He's out there awhile, not going too far from the house. Jazz takes his sweet time, tugging at the leash the whole time. When he gets back in they're both fast asleep on the couch.

Quinn takes a seat on the sofa chair, placing the puppy in his lap and rubbing his ears. Petting him seemed addictive.

He thinks about how he was always a flight risk. How he was so down that he thought about leaving again. But no more, not going anywhere. He realizes he is home.

"I love you," he whispers, wishing she could hear him. "I really do."


	8. Ulterior motives

a/n: Things will really start picking up from here...

* * *

They manage the next few weeks, very well actually. Quinn assimilates much easier than he though he could and she's sure to keep his mind with her. Though he's careful with her and with himself.

It's been twice she's caught him drifting off when he's alone and she wonders how often this happens, how long it would continue to happen, but knew he'd talk about when the time was right. She'd been there, but it was never this intense. And every time her hand reaches to caress the small of his back when he stares into space looking like he'd seen a ghost, he's thankful for her.

It's time now though for her to face what she's for so long had avoided, had been made to. Possible resurgence of old wounds. The hearings were still going on and she'd hardly been in touch with Lockhart. But he did send her one message wishing her luck and that he had tried to take care of things. She guesses it means he was surely out.

She's dropped off Franny at daycare already, making sure she's 100 percent ready for today. The truth was she didn't want to leave her with Quinn. It wasn't his fault though, he was really trying. She's barely through the door when she hears a thump upstairs and she rushes to see.

"Quinn!" She searches the empty bedroom and hears him in the shower. "Fuck! Quinn!"

She rips open the shower curtain to him just sitting in the tub, not moving and looking disoriented. While shaking him a minor sense of awareness is there. He gasps for air, looking around paranoid until he spots her face.

"Fuck," he says.

"Quinn what happened!?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

"Are you okay?"

He's still looking around making sure of where he is. "Yeah I think so."

"Get up," she takes his hand, having trouble helping him to his feet.

"Fuck Carrie. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she's still in her sweats needing a shower too. Plus she doesn't want to leave him alone just yet. "Can I join you?"

"Sure. Sure, yeah."

She undresses and steps in trying to keep him talking.

"So you have no idea what happened?" she says as he automatically begins washing her. He already had the shampoo in his hands before she got in.

"I have these moments," he says.

"That you see it all over again," she finishes his thoughts and tilts her head back for a second to let the flowing water rinse her hair.

"It's happened to you?" He says utterly shocked.

"Yeah. Not like this... but yeah."

They finish showering before stepping out. He hadn't realized that it wasn't just him. She gets it.

As she gets dressed he sits on the bed with the towel around his waste. "It's gotten better?" He more or less observes.

She finishes putting the shirt in her hand over her head before answering.

"I saw a professional Quinn. Just talked about things you know? It... it helped

"Do you think I should too?"

"It's up to you Quinn."

"Yeah," he puts his head down. "It's like I can remember, but can't."

"What do you mean?"

"Something wasn't right with the mission, something was off. It fucked with my head Carrie."

"Quinn?"

The was the first he'd talked about it. Finally sharing with her.

"It's like I remember all the things I don't want to and can't about everything else."

She wants to sit with him, just letting him say what's on his mind, but she can't she has to go to these hearings with a clear conscious.

"Do you want me to call her?" Again she feels bad for resorting to this, but it was all she had at the time and it did help. It would be good for him to get out of the house too

"Who?"

"The therapist. She specializes in PTSD." _And PPD._ she remembers. "There's no shame Quinn. Not one of her patients hasn't been over there."

"Okay Carrie. I'll go."

* * *

"Please state your full name."

"Carrie Ann Mathison."

"Thank you for the conformation," they take a moment looking through the previous testimonies, hers included. Although this time she knows they won't be holding anything back. "Now we've been through this with the former director Andrew Lockhart for several months now. We've pretty much gathered enough information about his program to terminate the contract, but we'd like to hear your thoughts and confirm your involvement before making it official.

"What about exactly?" She says.

"For instance, it was sudden that you chose this post."

"Is that a question?"

"Did Andrew Lockhart give you incentives to manage the Kabul Station? Special treatment? Did you have any part in constructing the protocol for the program?"

"What? No."

"Higher pay?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing out of the usual for the position."

"Did you trade secrets in order to get information to make the program look better - to make yourself look better?"

"No!"

"So your source was always-"

"Sandy. Sandy Bachman. Just him."

"And you trusted him?"

"I did. His information was completely reliable up to... the incident"

"Well the fact is you were there, conducting these missions. Did you ever believe that this program had long term viability?"

She takes a gulp. "I did. I wanted to believe."

"So you're saying no, it did not?"

"I-"

"It sounds like you didn't really want to be there in the first place Ms. Mathison."

"I didn't."

She was trying to forget that, thought they were past this. Where the fuck were they going with all of this?

"So you're telling us that you parted all ties and plans with the Station in Istanbul and departed for the Kabul Station within days of returning from maternity leave - a place like that - with absolutely no incentive or ulterior motives? It doesn't quite add up."

"That was the incentive, going alone," she's brutally honest.

He acknowledges, shaking his head. "Okay."

"What do you mean okay?"

"Mr. Lockhart gave us the exact same answers."

"And you asked me because you thought he might be covering for me?"

"Exactly." They flip a few more pages, making her wait longer. "Do you have anything else you'd like to share today?"

She takes a deep breath before starting.

"I do want to say that Andrew Lockhart is a good person, but not for the position he took."

"Explain."

"We need someone in charge who's there for the right reasons."

"He never was then?"

"Not at first," she begins. "Not until it was too late. You can't understand it unless you've been there. He understood it then. After." Her word come out slowly.

"I couldn't image Ms. Mathison," the microphone echoes more than ever now that everyone else is completely silent. "And the new director, you know him as your former mentor Saul Berenson, do you believe that he is in for the right reasons?"

Of course he wasn't that selfish prick. But as long as she has him by the balls, he'd have no other choice.

"Yes," she lets her mind do the talking.

"One more question - this one's more out of curiosity."

"O- okay?"

"Do you have plans to go back?" He asks after shutting off his mic.

She thinks about his question which is an easy one, but it's the first time she's put it into words.

"I can tell you Mr. Senator that if for some reason I ever end up back in this court room, we won't be discussing some shit hole war zone."

* * *

It's quicker than she expected it to be and now she has the afternoon to herself. She gets lunch alone, not feeling bad about it at all. But as she's sitting there she picks up her phone and starts scrolling through her pictures. Lots of Franny, herself with Franny - which she was really lousy at taking - and the recent ones with Quinn. She smiles not caring who's looking until it buzzes with a number she doesn't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Carrie," Saul says and she doesn't answer, though he can still hear her breathing. "Carrie please don't hang up."

"What do you want Saul?"

"Did uh... everything go okay today?"

"How do you know I was there today?" she presses.

He doesn't answer it.

"Can you come to my office today? I think we should talk. Just you and me. What do you say?"

"I can't," she's dismissive. "I have to go pick up my daughter."

He huffs. There's a nervousness to his voice. "Bring her with you then."

"How about Monday?" She says not caring what he thinks.

"That's five days from now Carrie."

"Monday then," she says.

"Monday."

The slightest thread in her feels bad for him, but he's dug his own grave. It's time for her to run the show now. Time to stop all the fucking up, the bullshit.

* * *

"Quinn you here?" She says when she walks in.

"In here," he shouts from the kitchen.

The puppy has peed all over the floor and he's scavenging through a pile of photographs.

"Quinn?" She places Franny in her highchair, not exactly knowing what to expect. "Did you go today?"

"Yeah, Carrie I'm fine really."

"What is all this!?"

"Carrie please just listen for a second please!" He stands grabbing her arms, running his hands up and down them to convince her that he's alright.

"Okay. Okay. I'm listening."

"Who is this?" He plasters the photo in front of her. "I- I-"

She's shocked to see it and concerned that he's holding this particular one in front of her.

"Quinn did you see this man? In Syria?"

He nods.

"You- you don't remember?"

He sits shaking his head.

"One of Haqqani's men. From the exchange."


	9. Pac-man

A/N: This is very much a transitional chapter. Probably the chapter with the least amount of C/Q so far, but that's not going to last long.

* * *

He couldn't remember everything, but his brain is seeming to turn itself back on. It had always worked more efficiently in this mode.

"They were talking about a hospital, building a hospital," he recalls.

"It doesn't make sense. Why would he be in Syria?"

"I don't think he is. Carrie I don't know. But I saw this man, a few months ago."

"So just his men?"

"Carrie I can't even remember seeing a target. It's like there wasn't one!"

"Quinn I don't like this."

"We searched for months," he makes clear. "Nothing. Just most of us ending up dead."

"I'll figure it out Quinn. I go back... soon. I'll figure it all out."

"Well technically I'm still a part of the CIA. I can help!"

"What! You said you were out!" This makes her hysterical. "What-the-fuck Quinn," She mouths, as Franny is right next to them.

"I'm out of Dar's group. I said that."

"No you said you were out," she retaliates, not exactly remembering the words he used.

It's all turning into a mess that he doesn't want.

"I'm sorry Carrie," he grabs her tight.

"You were just... this is all just-" she breathes heavily.

"Shhh we'll figure it out," he says while stroking her hair. "Now what do you want for dinner?"

She laughs at his gesture, still not able to grasp why he's so calm.

"I want to go there now," she says into his chest. "I need to get to Langley. I want to fix this."

"No. Stay," his voice is so smooth that she can't possibly say no. "Just for a few days," he reminds her.

She backs away, looking into his eyes and knows he's not lying. He just has to have her there. Like he'll shatter like a brick at a window if she gets any further away.

"I gotta get changed," she tells him. "Watch her for me."

He rubs the bridge of his nose knowing that he opened up a swinging door that he knew she'd need to shut just to be able to sleep at night. He wasn't going to let her do this alone. It was his battle too.

"Shit," he whispers seeing the mess the dog left on the floor.

As he cleans up the doorbell rings. He picks up Franny, slowly making his way to the door. When he looks through to see who it is, he forces himself to contain his inner frustration.

"What are you doing here Saul?" His deep tone lets out.

Saul is equally surprised to see Quinn there with Franny in his arms, even as Dar had shared his suspicions. He never really wanted to believed it, ignored it actually. And his eyes are still in disbelief every time he catches a glimpse of Brody's kid.

"I was just going to ask the same thing," Saul fails to make an impression. Quinn says nothing, only gives a stone cold glare back at him. "Is Carrie here?"

"She's busy."

"Oh. What do you- what do you live here? Is that what this is?" Saul can't stop himself from asking.

Quinn shoots him another look, grabs the door, and prepares to shut it in his face. Carrie gets a hold of it before he can.

"Saul?" She arches a brow. "I told you I'd see you next week."

Quinn walks away and lets them be, but is sure to keep his ears open in the kitchen.

"You followed me," she says

"Yes. What is this Carrie?" He says.

"It's called none of your fucking business," she says shutting the door to meet him on the porch. He sighs. "How about you just fucking ask me what you really came here for Saul."

"Okay," Saul says timidly. Her voice makes him tense.

"There's no tape okay! They don't know about the fucking tape. Because I know that's what you came here for. That's it right? Because if they did know you wouldn't even have a fucking job - anywhere. And no, I didn't even bring you up," she tells him not caring who will hear.

"Carrie please."

"Saul just go home. I don't need you're shit today too."

_What other shit?_ He thinks.

"You'll need me soon enough," he says as he walks away.

"We'll see about that," she shuts the door, catching her breath.

She meets Quinn right after in the kitchen.

"I figured out what I want for dinner," she says.

"What's that?" He says.

"Wine."

Quinn shakes his head. "How about pasta?"

* * *

Monday couldn't have come soon enough. They've spent the weekend clearing out his apartment. She couldn't believe he still kept it after this long, but he wasn't too sad to part with most of his stuff. To him everything is just that, stuff.

"Is that everything?"

"Carrie I told you I don't need all this stuff."

"You should keep some of it."

"Everything I want is in this tote."

"Your clothes?"

"Those too, I guess."

"Alright, I'll grab this bag."

Carrie waits with Franny in the car until he's done.

"Quinn why are we stopping?"

"I have to return my keys."

"Oh right."

She watches closely as he does.

"Hi," Quinn says.

She'd seen him come in and knew exactly who he was with. "I saw you here about a month ago. It was late."

"Yeah. I'm- I'm good now. I am."

"Figure things out with your boss?"

"Something like that."

"And I called her the lucky one," she says, taking a look out the window. "If you let her go I'll kill you myself."

Quinn laughs. The kind of laugh she certainly hadn't seen before.

"I won't... I wanted to say thank you," he's genuine.

"You don't have to do that."

"No. Thank you, really."

"Well, I better not see you here again. I'm serious."

"I'll try. You can keep whatever I left. I don't need it."

"Get outta here. Why are you still here?' She says as the keys dangle from his fingers.

"Bye," he smiles again.

He drops the keys and it feels good, great actually. No need to come back to an empty apartment building again.

"Who's that," Carrie asks when he gets to the car.

He thinks about it a moment, "A friend."

"Didn't know you had any," she jokes.

"Yeah, well she's one of the good ones."

* * *

Carrie enters Langley like she's never left. This part of her that can never let go, still won't let go, which is exactly why she's here. Especially not with the path of potential destruction they've left behind. Though she's not even considering staying all night like she used to. One day at a time until she figures this out.

She makes her way into her new office, really new. They'd just finished it up a few months ago. Almost the exact spot she was standing when the bomb went off and same place she said she'd leave this place for good. The same day Saul told her it couldn't happen, her happiness outside these walls. He was mostly wrong.

Carrie immediately gets to work attending all the briefings for the day, trying to avoid any direct contact with Saul. The current threat orbiting it's usual nucleus. The Middle east at the center, all the places she'd been touring for the past twelve years. Yet now there's nothing jumping inside this time that says ship me out on the next flight.

And then it hits her, the travel log. Quinn had insisted that their last mission was strange, lacking any sort of objective - or target for that matter. Maybe looking at something on paper can help. It's off limits for most of course, but there were some with access. People like Saul. She bites the bullet and heads his way.

* * *

"Come in," Saul says.

"Saul," her voice instantly garners his attention, as she takes a seat.

"You're still here. It's late," he says as if he's trying to convince her that this is where she really belongs.

Carrie plays along with him. "I know, I'm working on something."

"Already huh? What kind of something?"

"I need the travel logs Saul."

He smiles like he knew this was going to happen and knew she'd need him. It's killing her to ask him, but needs that book.

"What are you working on?" Saul asks again, not yet fulfilling her request.

"Come on Saul, just let me see it. I just need to look at something"

"Making sure your boyfriend really left that day?" Saul spits out. She know he's only trying to get her going by saying something like this. That he's actually just fucking upset about it. That it's eating at him and he just can't accept it. When she stares him down and doesn't move an inch, he realizes that what he says now - his opinion - no longer has any effect on her. "When do you need it by?"

"Now would be good," she says.

"I'll have it delivered here in ten minutes. It can't leave this room."

"Fine," she agrees.

This is just about the only thing that will keep her in a room with him this long and Saul knows it. Carrie tells him she has to make a phone call while she waits, leaving him to himself.

* * *

As she sifts through the files, she goes all the way back to late May when Quinn had left. Of course it had all been blacked out, but it was conformation for her. The only words not blacked out are locations and dates.

"So uhhh... how's your daughter?" Saul asks and sounds uncomfortable about it. Like he knows it's the only question he could possibly ask her that she'll respond. Carrie wants to tell him that he doesn't really care and that she doesn't even care to breath the same air as him let alone discuss her daughter with him. But when she looks up to say what's on her mind she notices how truly lonely he looks, though the man would never admit it to her. No sense in beating a dead horse.

"She's great," she's accommodating and flashes a smile, yet not truly caring if he actually does care or not.

He can sit here and say I'm sorry a million times over and over, but at the end of the night he knows he's not really that sorry for saving his own ass. Sorry at this point was never going to cut it anyways. And at the end of the night it was she who saved his life, literally.

"Just let me know when you're done," he says as she nods.

A couple hours go by, Saul's in and out. She's looking for any trace of a lead. Most it had looked typical, nothing out of place. Over and over she searches through the past few months trying to find anything. She again goes back to the day he left as if she can see through the blackout file, but maybe she didn't need to. Forgetting about the other entries, she now only pays attention to the black ops log.

The pattern is unique, more like a travel path. May 2014 Iraq, shorty after in May to Iran (near the Iraqi border), July Eastern Turkey, August Western Turkey and Bulgaria, September Romania, early October Hungry and then nothing. Not a thing in almost two months. Just a dead end. _What a waste of time_. She thinks. Time she could have spent at home instead of being stuck in this office with Saul awkwardly peering over at her every once and a while.

"Thanks I'm heading out," she says, leaving before he can barely get in a goodbye.

* * *

She arrives home and it is really late, even though she said she wouldn't be. Hoping that they're still awake, she hurries into the house only to be greeted silence. Quinn is sleeping sound on the couch with Franny tucked safely into his arms. Carrie almost cannot believe how good he's been with her. She grabs the nearest blanket to cover them up and leaving them be, but she's still wide awake - and bored now.

The house is pretty clean so nothing to do there. Except for the clothes are starting to pile out of the laundry room. That was the one thing that they both hated. He'd been pretty good about it until now. But it was something to do. It soon becomes clear the exact reason for the excess clothing, all the clothes from his apartment were still there and still dirty. Nobody had touched the room for days.

She starts sorting them into piles, some of his clothes smothered in dirt and blood after pulling them out of bags. After awhile she realizes that he is one of those people who don't like to empty out their pockets. She swears she can fill up Franny's entire piggy bank with the amount of coins that she finds.

Then in his coat, there's a piece of paper. She was going to throw it away at first, but she wants to look at it. When she unfolds the neatly creased sketch, it appears to be a distorted pac-man looking creature. Carrie rolls her eyes, shakes her head and continues sorting. She thinks about the picture and it wasn't pac-man. She grabs it again and really takes a deep look, she sees it now. It's actually a very distinct outline of Germany.


	10. Protocol

A/n: A bit of suspense is added to the mix here. Carrie wants to go to Germany, but runs into a few problems on the way.

* * *

Carrie thinks about how this is all coming together now, but the blanks are what matters. Dar comes to mind, not that she's surprised. He's the one calling or being somehow involved in these "missions", though she knows he's practically untouchable. And of course his little excursion wasn't in the travel log when he went to Islamabad - something someone can get fired over right there. But as long as he's in America, he's not exactly a threat at this point.

She stops thinking now, just trying to get back to what she was doing. Besides, if anyone can help it's Quinn who's currently wrapped in a burrow of blankets with Franny on the couch. It's after midnight now and she knows she should get some sleep.

In the kitchen she pours herself a shot - rather half a glass - of Quinn's bourbon. It's a simple remedy for sleep, along with taking the puppy for a walk. Though it coheres dead center in her thoughts, her body rejects the wave of possibilities flowing through her mind and she doesn't make it up the stairs. Just finds somewhere to rest on the sofa chair.

* * *

He feels something missing when he wakes with his arms empty, but the energy heard from the kitchen settles any devious conclusions. The smell isn't familiar. She's cooking something and he wants to find out before she starts the kitchen on fire.

It's plastered on the fridge in the middle of Franny's few pieces of artwork and he recognizes it. He knows it was him and only him. Carrie's attempting to mold a pancake into her heart-shaped cookie cutters, with a plate of burnt ones next to the stove. Quinn carries over the drawing to her, assuming what she's thinking.

"We're going there, aren't we?" He says.

"Shit," she says with her focus on the skillet, but he knows she's talking to him too.

"Where'd you find it?" He asks.

"I've- we've got to," she says to him. "I found it with your stuff."

He turns down the stove top, taking over for her so that she'll keep talking.

"Quinn you know now. You know what this means right?"

"Yes."

She's nervous now, creating a distance afraid with how he'll answer her next.

"You'll come with me, won't you?" She asks.

He flips the perfectly cooked pancakes for the final time, shutting off the stove to give her his attention.

"It's just Germany right? No where else?"

"No. No! Just there."

"I'll go," he tells her. "I want him gone."

"We'll be fine Quinn."

"I know."

"Tell me your okay with this? Because I thought about it all night. I'm going."

"I'll go," he grins.

"God I love you Quinn," she pulls him to her wrapping her arms around his neck.

"You've got to tell Saul," he states the obvious.

"I know," she sighs still not letting go.

* * *

"Carrie? I wasn't expecting you," Saul says as she enters.

"Hi,"she says carrying in some lunch.

"Peace offering?" he asks. "If you need the travel logs again, it'll be awhile."

"No, um no," she sits to take out the food. Saul leans back, folding his arms waiting to find out what she needs.

"What's going on?" He asks.

"I have alfredo linguini or pesto tortellini. I didn't know so I got-"

"Carrie?" He raises his brows.

"I have a lead," she confesses.

"On?" He probes.

"Saul."

"Carrie."

"I want Berlin."

"Can't be done," he dismisses it.

"Fuck! Why not?"

Saul grabs his pasta of choice and begins to dig in. "Chief's been there for five years. There's no way she'll leave."

"What about case officer? Anything! Come on Saul."

"I would maybe consider it if you told me something a little more substantial," he says between bites.

She doesn't want to say his name just yet, but it's the only way.

"Well, if Quinn overhearing a bunch of terrorists in Syria saying that they're planning on building a safe house in Berlin isn't substantial, then I don't know what is," she's vague, yet gives away all the parts that turns her suspicions into an elevated threat.

He takes off his glasses setting them on the desk beside him. "This wasn't reported," he says sternly.

"Do you remember everything? From when you were over there? I can't," she looks him dead in the eye and he says nothing. "I didn't think so."

"I'll look for something," he's once again defeated, much to Carrie's surprise.

"Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah," he says as he chews. "You can bring little Fanny with you too... if you want."

She narrows her eyes at him. "It's Franny."

"Ya," he says slightly embarrassed that he really didn't know her nickname.

"And uh- uh-"

"He's not going Carrie. He wants in on this, he can stay and tell me what he... remembers."

"Saul!" She rises furiously.

"You want to go or not?" He says as she's literally in his face at this point.

She huffs. "Yes," she sits again.

"As far as I'm concerned your contract will only accommodate immediate family members, so stop acting like I'm fucking with protocol."

"Protocol," she spits out mocking him.

"When do you want to go?"

"Soon," she says, still visibly upset with him.

"I'll do my best. I need a report on my desk by tomorrow."

"Done."

"And he's still not going."

* * *

"Germany? What do you mean you're going to Germany?" Maggie shouts while chopping up some veggies. Carrie's silent after the quiet revelation. "Every time I think you're-" Maggie takes a deep breath and takes a peak a Franny on the kitchen floor while she's figuring out what shapes go in each slot in the box, "She's going with you, right?"

"Yes," Carrie says, though there's an obvious hesitation to it.

"Carrie?"

"I um- I- I-" Carrie meets her on the floor only to be greeted with a smile. The kind of smile that pierces into her heart and turns her into a pile of mush. She smiles back, regretting the possibilities that she'd been considering. "She's coming."

"You still her passport, birth certificate, her visa!"

"I know. I know," she holds up her arms.

"At least tell me you're staying two more days for Thanksgiving. You made it to what, two in the past ten years?"

"We'll be here," Carrie pauses, "it'll be the first... without-"

"Yeah," Maggie sighs. "She slept through the whole thing last year. Even through dad's relentless screaming during the football games. Then she was up all night of course."

Carrie laughs. "Sound like something I would do," Carrie's smile soon turns into a frown, then the tears slowly accumulate in her eyes. It takes a second before Maggie notices.

"Hey," Maggie meets her on the ground to give her a hug. "I miss him too."

* * *

It was Quinn's first time at a Mathison Thanksgiving, or any Thanksgiving for that matter. Mounds of food that they couldn't possibly finish; football on all day; card games that he had to be taught on the spot. He still doesn't exactly understand what Euchre is, but Carrie made sure they won.

"That was interesting," he says as they walk to his truck.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't really think there'd be a whole turkey."

"Well I hope you enjoyed it after slaving away on it for four hours. I can't believe you stuck your hand in that thing."

"Why don't you eat meat?" He asks. He's been wanting to ask her for awhile now. Each and every thing he learns about her is always interesting.

"I don't know. I guess I'm just not into eating flesh. It grosses me out."

He shrugs. "Okay?"

"What? It doesn't gross you out?"

"I love it," he vindicates pulling her in for a long, drawn out kiss.

"Uh, I think I can taste it," she tells him.

He opens the truck door so that she can grab Franny's things.

"Her last sleepover before we leave," she reminds him.

* * *

When they get home, he makes slow, passionate love to her. He kisses her everywhere, all the places he'd somehow missed before. His steady pace is ripe to keep them both on edge for hours, encapsulated between the sheets. The irretrievable time ticks and when they finally come, they begin all over again. After awhile they're exhausted and spent after hours of being lost in each other with a gratifying ending.

He can tell she's almost asleep and doesn't know how it could be. It had been awhile now that he knew sleep would be difficult for him tonight. He gets as close to he backside as he possibly can without laying on top of her, yet he still can't find sleep.

"Does uh, your sister know?" He whispers.

"No," she says half asleep. Her eyes are shut, but he can't see them. He had kind of figured what his answer would be when Maggie didn't say anything about it all day.

"Does anyone?"

"Not yet."

"I'm nervous," he admits and she knew he would be.

Carrie turns around needing to look him in the eye. His face always says more than his words. And as she thought, it's a giddy nervous. The kind of nervous she is.

"Me too."

* * *

_Four days later._

"This is taking awhile," he says as they wait. "They said 2:00 p.m."

"Quinn it's 2:04, chill."

He taps he's foot growing more and more impatient by the second.

"Quinn, I'm taking her to the bathroom. Whatever you do don't let that car do another lap. This airport is a mind you know what."

He watches their bags, glancing at his watch every minute. The truth was Astrid hasn't been answering his calls. She was suppose to head back to Berlin after he had left Islamabad. Something isn't right and he knows it. He's only thinking the worst.

"Peter Quinn?" the embassy driver points to him as he pulls up.

"That's me."

The driver stares at his memo, realizing it was three people he was instructed to deliver to the embassy.

"And your wife?"

"She'll be right out. Had to take the kid to the bathroom."

* * *

A/n: oh yes! They've found a way to make sure Quinn could come. Let's just say Saul is not very happy. Next chapter with feature some Saul/Dar conversations and I will be introducing a new female character who will bring some entertaining spice to the story. Let me know what you think :)


	11. Natural born hunters

A/N: Carrie and Quinn don't exactly have the easiest transition when they arrive in Berlin. They both run into people from there past.

* * *

"Mr. Berenson, I have-"

"I see him. Let him in," Saul relays to his assistant, and rubs the bridge of his nose.

Dar glides in, looking ready to unleash his anger.

"Look, before you-" Saul begins.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Saul?" Dar hisses.

"Do you think I wanted this?" Saul counters.

"You let it happen. You tell me."

"I couldn't stop it. Nothing I could do."

"Of course you could, you're the head of the fucking CIA. Now he's off playing house with Mathison in Berlin."

"He left your group. Did you expect him to show up in your office this morning?"

"You seem to be missing my point here. How long was that going to last? That union was going no where, still won't. He would've came back - and soon enough. Now he's distracted with his little assignment you gave him. Way to fuck it all up Saul."

"They're married," Saul mutters quietly. "Can you fucking believe it?"

"Excuse me?" Dar is sure he's heard wrong.

"She wrote up her own fucking paperwork and I didn't look at it. I signed it. You're right it's my fault."

"Un-fucking believable. Get him back here, right now."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because now that he's there, I can probably use him."

"I need him more."

"Why?"

"He's mine. Always has been always will."

As angry as Saul is, he knows they have something. They're born hunters just taking on their next prey. It's the variables that make him weary. Those two weren't designed for domestic life. That they'll let their guard down and lose the instinct for good. But they're there now and he needs something substantial to get some points on the board or else he risks the chance of fucking this up all over again. He needs a check in the winners column and soon.

"What exactly do you need with Quinn? You're group is full of capable men?" Saul is curious.

"He's a once in a lifetime. The best I've got. And you turned him into some worthless analyst." Dar has plans with Quinn. He needs him on the next border in a weeks time. "This conversation is far from over Saul!"

Dar storms out quickly and Saul's not sure when he'll be back. Saul still can't believe what they'd done to get their way either and at this point he doesn't care if she ends up hurt. Maybe her surprise in Berlin will be a wake up call that he's not exactly thrilled.

* * *

"This is it?" She asks looking around the tiny apartment. "This had to have been Saul!"

"Well it's got a nice view," Quinn says, peering through the blinds at the city.

Carrie continues to scope out the apartment as if a second bedroom will magically appear.

"This is bullshit!" She shouts

"We'll live Carrie," he tells her. The closet is big enough for him to live in.

It's actually funny for him to see her get heated over something so simple. The last time they'd arrived at a station, she was all business - walked straight in with blood on her face after watching Sandy being brutally murdered in front of her. Today she walked in immediately needing to know where she'd be living- and not for her, because it's not just her that she has to be worried about now.

She folds her arms with a sour look on her face. "Well I won't."

"Carrie, I'm sure we can fix this," he brushes her shoulder.

"It's not that."

"What's wrong?"

"I left my dog. I miss that little fucker already," she says, though her eyes are entirely glued to her finger. It wasn't even a ring he'd given her, just one she had , and he definitely didn't ask where she got it. He bought his at a local pawn shop in D.C. and he's not even sure if it's real or not.

"You don't have to wear it - if you don't want to," he says cautiously.

She stares at it a bit longer and comes up with a solution. "You're right. Here put your's in here. We don't want to lose them."

"You okay?" He asks as she stashes them away.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." She snaps out of it and her mode begins. "She's sleeping on the bed. I'll be back," she heads for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To find someone to fix this. Don't unpack a thing!"

* * *

"It's not going to work. I need a bigger apartment. There must have been a mistake. I brought-"

"Excuse me," a woman says, interrupting Carrie's conversation with the housing director. "Do you mind coming with me?"

"Well," Carrie's slightly annoyed, "I'm a little busy here and I don't even know who you are."

"Well if you come with me, I can assure you that I can fix your little 'housing problem'," she gives a little attitude, but her offer has outweighed all.

"Thank you. I tried to tell them-"

"Just walk," she cuts up Carrie once more.

"Oooo-kay" Carrie says. This woman's tone is confusing - rude actually.

They get to her office after an awkward stroll of silence. As long as she can change her living situation, she doesn't care and will never have to see this woman again.

Carrie's cordial, taking the seat that's offered, but the woman continues to stand.

"So," Carrie remains seated waiting to resolve things, "My name is-"

Cecile stares out the window, not making eye contact at this point. "I know who you are. I read your file."

"Oh good then you know that-"

Cecile turns. "Well I didn't get that far. I only skimmed over the first few lines. All I needed."

"I'm sorry?" Carrie cocks her head now that she's slightly agitated, "Did I do anything wrong here?"

"This has never happened before you know, someone just showing up like this."

"I know. I know," Carrie understands her frustration to an extent, and begins to explain herself. Cecile's not willing to let her talk though.

"It's your first time overseas, isn't it?" Cecile says like she's speaking to a child.

Carrie chuckles and she takes it as a yes. "You uh- sure you read it? Like at all?"

Cecile embraces the encouragement and continues. "I'll take a stab at."

"By all means," Carrie crosses her arms waiting for a show.

"You somehow snuck through the doors of Langley. You've been an analyst for say... twelve years. You never actually actively worked a case - your nails look pretty clean. You'd been in your own little safe world behind Langley's walls. We don't do that here," she points to herself. "I don't do that here."

Carrie knows she has more in her, waiting for more. "I understand."

"You made a boo-boo didn't you? That's why the director sent you here. That's why he had to beg me to take on another case officer in my already crowded - already established - perfect station."

Carrie shakes her head grinning, not believing what she's hearing. People are far more territorial when the station is not a complete hell hole.

"I'm spot on aren't I? I can keep going."

"Sure," Carrie's loving this.

"Okay let's see. Your single; live with a roommate in an apartment downtown D.C. - close to the clubs; you're having an affair with a congressman; you blow your salary on frivolous things; all the while not really giving a shit about what you're actually doing?"

Carrie has stopped laughing now, mostly because she's about to have the last laugh. An ounce of laughter now would just be insulting.

"Well you got my name right." Though she doesn't mention the part with a congressman. That part was mostly true.

The door flies open and Cecile's not exactly compliant with the entry. The man pays no attention to Cecile and focuses entirely on Carrie.

"I'm in the middle of something Rudy," Cecile says.

"This will just take a minute."

"McCoy?" Carrie just notices who he is.

"It's been a long time Mathison."

Carrie abandon's her seat to give him a hug. "Jesus I haven't seen you since Beruit."

"Yeah, I came here right after. How've you been? How's Saul?"

"Director Berenson?" Cecile interjects.

"He personally recruited her, I'm pretty sure they're on a first name basis. You've got the heir to the throne right here," he gloats.

Cecile flustered, cheeks turning bright red.

"I'm good," Carrie answers his previous question. "Saul's uh- great too."

"That's good... and I heard you got Nazir after the shit show in Beruit. Great work Mathison."

"It's good to hear it from you Rudy. I couldn't have done it without you."

They hug once more and he waves to Cecile, not giving her a shred more of attention.

Cecile closes her eyes as the door shuts, utterly embarrassed with her seemingly accurate assumptions. "I'll look at your file," is all she says.

"Thank you," Carrie excuses herself.

Saul had literally told that woman nothing. Not a damn thing, and it's only stalling her from getting back to work. She then tries to remember if she ever sounded like that. Of course not without a good reason though.

* * *

Quinn looks over his shoulder at every street corner, he knows they may be looking for him. It was never going to stop for him. He just might be a target until the day he dies, but he doesn't want that. Even if it was years from now, they still might be looking for him. The only way is to get them and not miss a single one.

He's procedural no matter where he goes, but he's been here before. Searching his landmarks, he finds his stashed weapons, a separate shelter - he still needed his safe house. This was more like a storage locker, but it'll work just fine of he needs it. He's not sure who's still operating, who's around, or even alive. He's got more off book sleeper agents in this city than some acquire in a lifetime. They know Quinn's reliable - always has been.

Quinn's shadow lurks on the other side of the diner window where he sees him. He knew exactly where he'd be at this moment. Their last mission had been successful, failure never an option.

"Sit," the man says. "What brings you here?" He says with a thick accent.

"You know, just stuff."

"I know your kind of stuff," he sips his coffee. "What do you want?"

"A coffee," Quinn says.

"You know what I mean." He snaps his fingers for Quinn's coffee.

"I can't find her John," Quinn says.

Quinn only has to read his face to know what he's going to say.

"I haven't seen her... in a long time"

"Yeah," Quinn puts his head down for a second, then gets up to leave. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime. Will you be around John?" John asks to Quinn.

That's what they all called each other here, just John.

"Hopefully."

His feet become increasingly heavy as he walks through the crater like puddles. The weight of his actions catching up to him too. Another one gone because of that murderous bastard. Human slime that the CIA is catering to. Quinn's angry at himself everyday for missing the shot, the one shot that counted. His pulse flows like a raging river all over again and he almost forgets where he's headed - back to Carrie.


	12. Divergent

She stays put and calls it a night in the tiny apartment. Sleep hasn't even crossed her mind yet. Closing her eyes will just allow uninvited tremors. All of thinking that she'd thought she'd already done is engulfing her awareness. The consequences hardly anticipated until now. Franny's been up every hour too given that she hasn't recovered from the flight and hasn't adjusted to the time change yet.

And Quinn isn't even back yet, she wonders what he might be doing. She's wondering why she returned to him gone and having to go get Franny at the daycare on the other end of the facility, as if her day could get anymore unpolished. Why he just took off without a word when he knows what that does to her, and what it has done to her. He'll be back though, she knows it.

The smooth taste of a cigarette calms her nerves as she sips her wine on the balcony. A surge of tranquility coursing through her veins mixed with the delectable chardonnay produces makeshift ecstasy. She takes her time inhaling, looking around at her new home into the distance. Quinn was right, it does have a nice view. An stable environment free from the war zone she was living in just six months ago. The only smoke around is coming from her. She hears the glass gently tapping from behind, and the soft whimpers cause her to immediately discard the cigarette and down the last few gulps of wine.

Carrie crawls back into the bed with her, aware that she desperately needs to find some sleep herself, even though it's probably impossible. Instead, she lies there awake as Franny drifts off, and she's grateful enough for that.

It seems like hours have passed when she hears the distinct sound of his footsteps wandering through. She doesn't say a word, her mind placid now that he's back. The entropy of the day is restored. He collapses on the bed, quite gracefully actually. The pungent odor of whiskey oozes from his pores as he wraps his arm around her, like they belong there.

When she does try to open her mouth, she says nothing. He's already asleep anyways. She knows damn well that he has a good reason for being out of touch until 3 a.m. and stumbling in smelling like booze. His divergence was only a matter of when.

* * *

Quinn's wide awake, sitting near the bed with a convenient cup of coffee. He can't understand why she's still sleeping given that it's noon D.C. time. After last night, he knows he can't just leave right now. Instead he wakes her up in the best way he knows how, and her eyes flicker open before their lips even part.

"Carrie, I've got to go. I've got a meeting," he tells her. He really hopes she doesn't ask him about the night before, but he at least gives her a chance. Her expressionless face leaves him teetering, to the point where it's physically starting to hurt.

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeats. "Coffee?"

Carrie rises, accepting his offer quite quickly. "God yes, thank you ."

The night before he had wanted to wander off. He wanted to go out and not stop until his wrath was concluded, embody his old self once and for all. But it's not realistic, but erratic. He needs to protect them and be with them, which means protecting himself. Being here, having woken up next to her had erased those thoughts.

"Good luck with the ambassador," she says.

He loves how she knows where he's going, how he doesn't even have to tell her.

"Did you meet him?" He asks as he gets to his feet looking much more refreshed compared to his state the previous night.

"No... today I will," she tells him. "But I did meet the station chief."

"And?" He inquires after spotting a disconcerting look on her face.

"She's pissed," she tells him flat out.

"I bet," he gets up, heading for the bedroom door, and turns to her at the last possible moment. "I love you."

She smiles knowing that she was right. He was just getting used to being here, like they'd been. Except Quinn's been here. He knows the people, the landscape, and most importantly, her.

* * *

"Mr. Peter Quinn. I'm just now receiving your transfer," the ambassador says. "Any idea why?"

"None," Quinn lies. Of course Saul was still angry with him. He can't even image how livid Dar must be, but he pictures a fit of rage.

"I see a lot of black," the ambassador points out the obvious.

Quinn nods feeling no need to explain himself. Ambassador Faller knows what he is. He'll always be a _what_ to them. Objectified to the company he's a _what, _with Carrie he's a _who. _He really likes being a who.

"We don't get many of you," Ambassador Faller comments.

"That's a good thing right?" Quinn does his best to make sure he has recognized the mild humor in his voice.

"My opinion, yes. I only ask that you keep whatever it is you're doing to a simmer, not a boil."

"I'm quite accommodating."

"Good. I want to introduce you to one of our case officers who I believe can teach you a great deal about this station, and how it works. This isn't exactly Afghanistan "

"I understand. When will this happen?"

"He'll be here any moment."

* * *

Carrie makes her way to the daycare to drop Franny off for the day, and it proves to be more difficult than she anticipated. A mild tantrum erupts and she hands her over making today's goodbye as quick as possible, giving her a kisses and heading out.

"Ms. Mathison?"

Carrie cringes at the fact that she has been stopped, like she was doing something wrong. "Yes?"

"I wanted to talk to you, do you have a second?"

"Uh, sure."

Franny reaches for Carrie and she can't help but take her back from this person that she is forcing herself to trust with her daughter on a daily basis.

"Is Frances typically around other children?"

Carrie realizes the answer, having no idea where she's going with it, "No."

The woman nods like she'd been expecting that. "So, just you?"

"Mostly, yes. What exactly are you saying?" She sheds a tone of defense. She knows she's not the perfect mother, nor was that a requirement, but she does know she's not bad at all.

"She's shy around the other children," the woman tells her. "She doesn't particularly show any interest in interacting with them."

Carrie panics, thinking there is something wrong with herself, even worse thinking that there's something wrong with Franny. "Well she's with me all the time."

"Oh, no. I'm not saying... look I'm only asking if you can stay for awhile. Let her know that it's okay to be here."

"Oh, of course," Carrie's face turns slightly red, embarrassed by her assumptions she's made.

Carrie sits with her, picking up the nearest board book. She opens the page and begins to read 'The colors in my world'. Another child a bit older than Franny makes his way towards them, and Franny rests her head on Carrie's lap to feign sleep. Carrie hands him the book as he sits, reading to both of them now as Franny slowly lifts her head and inches her way towards the boy who now has the book in his hands.

Franny still has her hand firmly grabbing Carrie's knee, looking at her for approval, possessed with loyalty. Her trust with her is so profound, so deep now, resilient to any and all convictions. She's just scared right now and the only one she wants is her mother.

And now that they're here Franny has to get used to other people. These are the children that she's going to grow up with, who will be around her daughter just as much as herself. The last thing Carrie wants is for her to feel isolated and lonely, and to think that is how it is when she's not around. Eventually, Carrie acts as a magnet, attracting all of the children's attention. She doesn't force Franny to play with the other kids, it just kind of happens.

After awhile it's time to say goodbye again, vastly different than before. One thing she'll never do to her is leave without saying goodbye. It's become as important as water to her. The fear she'll never instill.

* * *

"So you've met Ambassador Faller?" Cecile says.

"Yes I did," Carrie says, mostly monotone.

Cecile's quiet, and the awkward silence develops into a scrutinizing staring contest. Her space had been violated.

She's a little bit older than Carrie and transcends with confidence, put together so precisely that if she moves right now, she might just come apart.

"I spoke with director Berenson," Cecile tells her eventually gaining her composure. Carrie waits for her to finish, wondering herself what Saul could have said. "You really do know him."

"Yes," Carrie mocks her slightly, though it was warranted.

"We are lacking case officers with your type of expertise, and I have a job lined up for you."

"A job?" Carrie's stunned.

"A promotion," Cecile is now clear. "We have our deficiencies, I'll admit it. I would like to ask you to direct our counter-terrorism unit here. Well, develop it actually."

Carrie's a little shocked after what had happened the previous day, but she's clearly done her homework. Saul's playing ball too, the reason not exactly vivid yet. She'll find out soon enough.

"I would love to," she accepts, still a bit surprised.

"Fantastic," Cecile's completely relieved. "And one more thing," she digs into her desk, finds the key and hands it to Carrie.

"I hope it's bigger," Carrie jokes.

"There should be plenty of room for the two of you."

"Two of us?" Carrie questions.

"For you and your daughter, right?"

"Yeah, but," she stops. It's still so strange saying it out loud, so foreign. "My husband is here too," she says, staggering as she speaks.

"Oh, of course. I've yet to meet him."

Carrie relaxes now, content with their second meet.

"So uh, what's your story?" She asks Cecile.

"What do you mean?"

"How'd you end up here, in Berlin?"

Cecile leans back, loosening up a bit, reminiscing. "Been married twice. Divorced twice. Finally found some solace here."

"Look, I didn't mean to come here and... mess it all up for you," Carrie apologizes first.

"We had a breach last year, nothing life threatening, but we brought a few people in. I know that you'll be a welcome addition," she assures Carrie. "I'm just not that into surprises."

"Thank you... neither am I."

"And I'd like to apologize for my... hysterics yesterday." The shame is now evident.

"Really don't worry about it. Besides, I have a one year old. I think I can take it."

* * *

"What is this place McCoy?"

Rudy pulls up to the construction site, ready to spill his intel on Quinn.

"Site 4GF55K a.k.a. suspicion lane."

Quinn perks up studying the zone, but nothing is standing out. A young blonde is at the gate letting people in and out of the facility. The trucks are concealed, nothing to be shown.

"It looks like they're renovating an apartment building," Quinn observes.

"Just wait for it man," Rudy tells him.

Quinn takes his eyes off the zone, looking in every other direction as Rudy snaps a few pictures.

"There. Right there!" Rudy points.

Quinn squints, not at a recognizing his target.

"Who is he?"

"Bad fucking news."

* * *

'307', Quinn reads as soon as he arrives back.

She'd taken care of this, all of it, and he really does appreciate it. Their crammed quarters are reconfigured into what looks like a luxury suite as he walks though the doors.

"Upgrade," he observes as he walks in.

"It's amazing," she says with a radiance too obvious to detour his attention.

And it's still there after today. The mission during the day and coming home - to an actual home - at night. It's how this works he supposes. The two worlds he assumes synchronizing, easily able to circumvent the qualm.


	13. In the scope of things

The sun is barely at a glimmer, but she's wide awake now. It's disappointing when she sees his back turned to her and head the other way, but she knows how much he still tosses and turns. He still can't turn all the way off. Since he'd come back, when she sleeps, all of her sleeps. It would take a lot now to shake her night.

It's strange though, because even though she can't see him, he looks so much more relaxed. He's on his stomach, each hand resting on the side of his head, his back slowly rises with each deep breath. She smooths his back with her palm, confirming his state. Gliding her hand back and fourth, she puts a little more pressure in it each time. He feels so good that an innocent touch is turning into need.

His eyes flutter, but he can't move. He just turns his head to let her know he's awake.

"Morning," he mumbles, eyes still half closed.

She stares at him closely watching his blue eyes flicker until they stay open. It's something about the morning that makes them shine.

"What?" He asks.

"Nothing," she tells him, still rubbing his back.

"No what?" He probes.

She inhales the fresh air, picking up his scent along the way.

"Nothing. Just... looking at you."

He props himself with his forearms upset that he let this happen. She won't say it.

"Look Carrie, the other night. I fucked up. I did. Something happened."

"Astrid? You went to see her?" She assumes.

"She's not here Carrie," he's monotone.

She knows exactly what he's saying and that he's probably thinking that it was all his fault. He sure doesn't show it. It's scary to think that he's borderline immune to death. She was almost there.

"Are you okay?" She wishes that he would have told her sooner so she could have asked him.

"I'm fine." He gets up breaking the moment, turning his back to her while he sits on the edge of the bed. "What do you have going on today?"

Carrie opens her mouth, ready to tell him, but thinks about how this might be the problem.

"You know what, no," she sneaks up behind him, clutching his shoulders. "Let's not talk about this."

"Talk about what?" He speaks to the pair of lips dangerously close to his ear.

"About work," she whispers.

He grins and she sits next to. It's refreshing that she can see some sense of loss now that he said it out loud.

"I'm sorry about Astrid," Carrie tells him taking his hand, closes her's around his.

He blinks as he stares at her, never considering being able to hear it.

"No one's ever said that me."

"What?"

"Sorry... for losing someone."

It's sad, but she knows the feeling. When Brody died and no one even considered it - how that affected her. Everything had been about the new life coming into her world, dismissing it as if he wasn't even her father. Not even Quinn and now she knows why.

"Nobody?" She gulps.

He shakes his head taking it all in. "Do you want to get breakfast?"

"Yeah," she says. Although her smile could have answered for her.

* * *

They decide to go outside the embassy for some fresh air, to cleanse the palate. Even though Quinn had suggested it in the first place, he only orders a coffee and then another.

"Do you want to go to the zoo tonight?"

Carrie suggests while chopping up Franny's pancake.

"I've never been to one," he's serious.

"You're joking? Right?"

He shrugs.

"You've never seen a tiger or a lion?"

"Nope."

"Franny what does a lion say?" Carrie asks.

"Whar," she mimics weakly, but enough to prove she's seen one.

"We can go," he says.

"Really?"

"Really. Let's go see a lion."

* * *

"What took you so long?" Rudy questions.

"Breakfast," Quinn says, not realizing how obscure he sounds.

"Meet a lady?" Rudy teases.

Quinn shows him the ring on his finger that he hadn't worn yet - besides the cab ride there.

Rudy slams on the brakes, almost hitting the car in front of him.

"You're just putting that on now? I would have felt like an asshole if I would have brought you to the bar."

"I stopped drinking," Quinn admits.

Rudy just shakes his head, mostly just disappointed that his potential drinking buddy is a waste.

"Pull over, pull over," Quinn demands.

"Let me just get closer."

"Here stop." Quinn animates.

They sit and wait as nothing has really changed. There's not much they can do with the imitation walls blocking their sights.

"Fuck me," Rudy mutters. "When are those stupid black plastic sheets coming down?"

Quinn waits diligently as the trucks come and go - at least one every each half an hour - writing them down as Rudy withers in boredom.

"What the fuck?" Quinn says.

"What?" Rudy perks up from his half asleep position.

"Alibada truck."

"What the fuck is that?"

The details that Quinn didn't even realize that he paid attention to begin to come out.

"Carrie ordered furniture from there... two days ago."

"Mathison?" Rudy questions, utterly confused.

Quinn ignores the obvious, nodding. "It's furniture, for kids."

"Wait... back up. You and Mathison?"

Quinn nods, not sure of the notion he's getting. "You know her?"

"Way back. Almost three years ago in Beirut. We did a mission together... She's good."

Quinn knows exactly when he's talking about. Shortly after is when they met - after she found Brody's suicide tape. He hadn't though about it, but their paths would have probably never have crossed if it wasn't for Brody. Strange.

"What the fuck," Quinn murmurs.

"You okay man?" Rudy asks.

"Yeah. Follow that truck."

They tail the truck on it's delivery route, - a rather boring afternoon for them - but nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually, it heads to the warehouse where the truck driver calls it a day and heads home. It's nothing like a chase, but a crawl. Quinn begins to wonder about this treadmill he's begun to walk on - all ready to sprint. Nothing more than a humdrum.

"Rudy you sure this is where the tangos are at?" Quinn questions pensively.

"Positive."

Quinn sighs, just wanting to be with Carrie right now instead of wasting his time. Yet he'd be lying if he said he didn't have an inkling too. "Let's go swimming again."

"Got any ideas?" Rudy's basically out at this point, a seemingly fruitless mission that he initiated.

"A few."

"So..." Rudy begins. "Tell me about Carrie."

* * *

The open conference room is inviting. Fresh floral arrangements help to filter her nervousness. Five minutes until she has to give a speech. She aligns her notes in several patterns trying to figure out where to start. It's not as if she's never spoken to a group before. Even her English class had it's high points when she wasn't thinking about how horrible things were then. Perhaps it's being responsible for yet another group. Consigning from Islamabad still loiters somewhere in the back. It's much easy to remember the stuff that left a stain rather than a smile.

When they walk in, six pairs of eyes wait for her to speak. She thinks about the last time this happened - and how pissed she was that not one person gave her an ounce of respect. Then she recalls how she started that meeting - accusation. Her own personal agenda. Time to put that in reverse. She's the expert here.

Carrie oscillates, picking up her notes then sets them down. Fuck the notes. This was all tentative.

She introduces herself, gives them her title, still not quite knowing where to start.

"Does... does anyone have questions for me?"

Several attendees raise their hands. She's surprised that they are mainly personal questions: how long she has worked for the agency, questions about her family (when they see the ring), her last posting, asking her what she likes to do for fun. It's all casual really, and it eases the flow for the day.

They're all pretty bright and have a decent amount of knowledge about what's going on. Yet the experience is the field is anemic and non-existent. She figures out quickly that the only way to galvanize the program is to get everybody on the ground.

* * *

"Ist das gut?"

"Ja, danke," Quinn says as he overlooks the vantage point. It's actually perfect. The only way he could see more would be with a plane or a drone, but the risk of being blown is too much. Knowing people is starting to become handy.

As the door shuts, Rudy takes a look around evaluating this new advantage.

"So Carrie's doing the set up?" Rudy asks.

"She's bringing the equipment tomorrow," Quinn begins to gather his things, "I'll see you at eight."

"Wait where are you going?" Rudy asks as Quinn is leaving right away.

"I have plans."

* * *

Their night at the zoo is a bit chilly, but absolutely worth it. Both Franny and Quinn coo at each and every exhibit.

She can remember going with her mother as a way to relieve stress, which became more detectable later. Ellen would leave that place a different person. It was like every time they'd go, it would bring out the best in Ellen. The look on her face when she and Maggie were spectating the beautiful animals is still vivid. It was confusing back then when her father didn't go too. She knows why now. It was a make-up trip.

Everywhere she's gone, she's visited the local zoo - at least one. All except Islamabad and Kabul. She collected the trips like someone collects postcards. It always made her worst days better.

A part of her though still holds onto the tread of guilt that looms and she h. Coming here is an easy way to soak up all of the smiles that she missed.

Inside there's a newborn baby lion. It's vulnerable, not yet inhibiting it's instincts. Not exactly what she was describing to Quinn, but it will do.

Luckily, they're taking open visitors now that the hype is over. They sit with the trainer and Franny is quickly intimidated after Quinn had said "look at the lion" while clutching onto her.

Franny tucks her hand away while Quinn balances her on his lap, gently calling the baby lion to him. It follows his moving fingers like they're a toy until she's close now in reaching distance. Not wanting to spoil her time, he guides Franny's hand to the little creature's fur, though she tries to resist.

Carrie follows suite, letting her know it's okay. Soon the fear is gone and her grin widens like never before as she speaks her feeble vocabulary to the lion. It all just feels normal. Like they're exactly where they need to be.

* * *

Carrie, Quinn, and Rudy show her crew the proper way to set up surveillance equipment the following day. It's not noticeable at first, but Carrie can see the conspicuous stares they're getting from Rudy after the harmless bickering she and Quinn share over the scope. Both them had stated how much more often they'd used that specific model and which zoom mode worked better.

"What!?" Carrie finally says to Rudy after Quinn leaves to check the other rooms.

"Nothing."

"C'mon what?" She forces him to get it out.

"Nothing. It's just... you're different."

"No..." she scuffs. I just stopped putting classified document all over my living room," she jokes.

Rudy laughs, but soon turns serious. "They're fucking idiots for firing you. You know that, right? You're the best."

"Thanks. It means a lot."

He speaks her language, he knows. She can't help but give him a hug.

Quinn enters, extremely caught off guard by their embrace, but keeps his cool.

"Who's going first?" He cuts it short.

"Ugh... ugh... Mary. I'll go get her," Carrie says and Rudy's now there to fend for himself.

"So, how well do you know her again?" Quinn can't stop himself.

Rudy refuses to answer and just rolls his eyes.

At last, Mary is getting a clear picture through the lens describing what she can see. Conveying the view, Carrie jots down everything she says, but really wants to look for herself.

Carrie focuses the lens to Quinn's dismay and gets a clear picture. Her jaw practically hits the floor, she's speechless.

"What?" Quinn asks.

Carrie backs away slowly, not sure how to say it.

"Look."

Quinn bends down carefully, hopeful to capture what she sees. Sure enough he gets a clear image of Astrid, folding her arms, sitting on a pile of lumber as she watches them work.


End file.
